


Justice For All

by BlueJay_Silvertongue



Series: Modern Age WonderPoison [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Basically my attempt at writing Justice League 2, Diana dies, F/F, Finally a superhero league that has an equal number of men and women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueJay_Silvertongue/pseuds/BlueJay_Silvertongue
Summary: Diana dies while defeating Steppenwolf, and Isabel Maru calls upon some friends to bring her back. Meanwhile, the threat of Darkseid looms.





	1. Denial

One blade falls. One blade rises.

Superman’s freeze breath can leave entire armies immobile, but Steppenwolf simply roars as icicles erupt up and down his armored forearm, and then Diana is there, her sword gripped in two immortal hands.

The head of Steppenwolf falls to the concrete with a wet splat. His helmet flies off and clatters down into a corner. And then Diana falls with a strangled cry, her ancient enemy’s ax buried in her unguarded throat.

_Diana! Diana, no! DIANA!_

But she does not rise. And somehow, unbelievably, blood begins to pool around her mangled body. Red blood, human blood- Amazon blood.

The Flash is at her side in an instant, but he hangs back, uncertain, unwilling to approach. Once, he saw another woman die. Once, death had changed his entire life, changed his entire reason to live.

“Diana, _no.”_ It is Bruce, and he growls angrily as his amplified voice echoes across the room. Armored hands tear away the mask, and suddenly it is not the mysterious protector of Gotham kneeling at Wonder Woman’s side, but a man, a mortal man, a man who might have loved her if everything had been different.

“It’s too late. She’s gone,” Arthur Curry grunts, turning away to seize Steppenwolf’s severed head and then nodding at Diana’s motionless body. “Best get her cleaned up and bring her back to her wife.”

But his knuckles are white as they grip the matted hair of their fallen enemy, and he clears his throat once, then strolls away without another word. But when Superman kneels down to lift her body from the cold ground, Victor Stone steps forward.

“Yes?”

“Please. Let me.”

And Clark looks at the Cyborg, and then he steps away and allows the robot to lift her into his metal arms. After all, they had fought together and dueled one another, but between his death and hers, they had only been comrades. Protectors.

But to these others, Diana had been a friend.

 

* * *

 

Both Isabel Maru and Alfred Pennyworth are waiting when they arrive, and they both stand in shocked silence as Cyborg gently sets Diana’s body onto the ground. And then Isabel is striding forward, her face betraying no emotion as she kneels on the cold floor, her hands searching the goddess’ skin, searching for her blood vessels, searching for a pulse, searching for signs of life, for anything, anything.

She ignores the gaping hole in her lover’s throat, the blood splattered across her armor. This is Diana, _Diana,_ she can’t be dead, she can’t, she _can’t._

But there is nothing.

Isabel rises, her hands shaking, her body shaking. And then as quickly as it came, her fear and panic are gone. And they are replaced with cold, angry, howling rage. She raises a hand, and the lasso of Hestia leaps up from the dead Amazon’s side and into her trembling palm. And with a single angry snap, the burning rope hisses forward and slithers around Bruce Wayne’s costumed body. He lets out a shout, but she yanks him forward until they are face to face, the Batman towering over her slight figure. But it is not she who looks afraid as they stare nose-to-nose at each other.

“Tell me,” she hisses, her voice barely above a whisper. And for once, the mouth below the cowl twists into an fearful grimace. “How many times will you allow your comrades to _die_ for you?”

“Dr. Maru, _please_ , I would not for the world-”

“Be _quiet,”_ Isabel snaps, jerking the burning lasso and allowing her lip to curl as Bruce gasps in pain.

“Tell me. Tell me why you, a human, a _human_ has returned alive, when _she_ is- is there. Lying there. How _dare_ you return, how _dare_ you stand before me, how _dare_ you have the audacity to draw breath when _she cannot…”_

“Please…”

“Well? _Well?!”_ Isabel rages, ignoring the heat from the flaring lasso as Bruce tries and fails to answer her questions. “You stood by and watched! Do you deny it? You stood by, all of you, you _useless_ men, you stood like the cowards you are, as she took him on alone, as she fought him, battled him- _do you deny it?”_

“I-”

_“Well?!”_

“No! I don't. I don’t deny it, but you have to understand-”

“I understand perfectly _well_ what happened, Mr. Wayne. You are a _coward_. You are _all_ _COWARDS!”_

The rope is burning now, so hot that it is searing into Isabel’s palm, but she cannot let go, she cannot allow herself to even think of unclenching her trembling fists, she cannot allow herself to move an inch, because if she does, the tears welling behind her eyes will spill down her cheeks; if she lets go, she will have to move, and if she moves, she will have to turn and look once more at her precious wife’s dead body, laid carefully out on the concrete floor like the warrior she is, like the warrior she was- and then time will go on, and the world will keep spinning, and she can’t. She won’t.

“Dr. Maru.” It is the gruff, bearded warrior-king now, and he is swinging the dripping head of Steppenwolf in one hand. “I’m sorry. It was an honor to fight at her side.”

He lifts his fist, presenting to her the decapitated head.

“She would have wanted you to have this,” the heir of Atlantis says in a low voice. Isabel stares down at the gruesome sight, and strangely, she doesn’t feel sick. But something races through her blood, something dangerous, something that has lain dormant for decades upon decades...

“Did she…?” Her voice is too unsteady to finish, but the Aquaman nods, his clear eyes still blazing with battlelust.

“Faced him like a queen, cut him down with one stroke. It was a _sight.”_ His voice breaks, and he hides it behind a fierce grin, but Isabel stares at him with narrowed eyes, then gives a curt nod. And to everyone’s surprise, Alfred Pennyworth steps forward, takes the messy gift from Arthur’s hands, and steps away once more.

“Dr. Maru. Please.” It is the Superman now, and his hand is gripping the Batman’s shoulder. Bruce Wayne’s eyes are tightly shut in concentration as he struggles against the burning lasso. “ _Please_.”

_A life for a life._

At any other time- for the last ninety years, Diana has been there, bursting into whatever room, whatever world, her head thrown back like the arrogant Amazon warrior she is, her sword and shield in hand, and she would sweep Isabel away to safety, away into the comfort of her strong, protective arms. And she would hold her close, until Isabel is calm once more.

But now she is dead.

And there is no one to calm her. No one to rush forward and stop her from crumbling. No one to save her from herself. Isabel closes her eyes, and for a moment she thinks she has lost the battle. But then she mumbles a low, soft word in Ancient Greek, and the lasso falls away. Bruce Wayne collapses on the floor, gasping, groaning.

Isabel turns away, kneels down, and slowly curls up beside the cold, still body.

_Diana… Diana, Diana..._

Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the bright voice of that over-excited boy saying something about _children… that was the last thing she said, she called us children…_ And then the robot is saying softly to _let her be._ There are some protests from the others, but they fade away to silence.

A door closes. 

And Isabel is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The premise of this fic is basically to mimic what happened in BvS and JL, except it's Diana dying instead of Clark, and Isabel who's putting together a team to protect the world and bring the dead back to life.
> 
> I'm not a huge fan of the way they brought Clark back in JL, so we're enlisting the help of some interesting characters to bring Diana back properly....
> 
> Thanks again for reading! We're in for a ride!


	2. You Are All To Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting visitors arrive at the Batcave.

Isabel opens her eyes. She is lying fully clothed on a soft bed, the covers drawn up to her chin. There is a strange candle burning on the nightstand, its restless flame sending red shadows over the white bedspread, and for a moment she is in another world, another century- a warm cabin in the middle of a bitter German winter- and then she blinks, and it is gone. Diana is lying beside her, eyes closed, her armor gleaming, but the deep gash is still running the length of her neck, down her chest, and clean through her back.

Isabel raises her head. There is a soft voice chanting her, over Diana, and she recognizes it, that language, those words. Once, she had been lying near death, delirious with a fever. And a demigod had murmured strange things over her to keep the demons at bay, as his armored companion sponged the sweat from her burning skin.

_Napi._

“Isabel.”

She sits up, but a single flame cannot light an entire room, and she can see nothing. Her trembling hand reaches out and finds his in the dark.

“Can you see her? Do you know where she is?”

“She is in the shadows. The evil spirits have fled… but I cannot find her.”

Isabel curses, and his rough hand tightens over hers. But the time for grief, that horrible moment of motionless shock- it is over. Diana is dead. There is no time to lose.

“The invisible plane is on the roof. Please…”

Napi does not reply, but he lingers a moment, his hand strong and comforting over hers, and then he pulls away and disappears. The candle sputters, and Isabel shivers as the shadows descend once more. Diana does not move, and Isabel pulls the blanket more tightly around herself. Her cold fingers brush against the lasso, and she breathes a sigh of relief as the room fills with its warm, comforting glow.

_“Isabel, have you seen my…”_

_Diana is standing in the middle of their bedroom, dressed in her full armor, her hair spilling down over her shoulders, and her right hand pressed against her hip as she turns around and around, searching._

_“Seen what?”_

_“My las- you! You have it, you little…”_

_She is striding forward, trying- and failing- to look stern as she puts out her hand. Isabel doesn’t move from their bed or the book she is reading by the light of the glowing cord._

_“Give it back.”_

_Isabel finally glances up, and a smile tugs at her lips._

_“Oh, this? Were you looking for it? I’m using it.”_

_Diana frowns and puts her hands on her hips._

_“It’s a powerful weapon-”_

_“It is, indeed-”_

_“And you’re not supposed to use it as a nightlight!”_

_“Why not?” Isabel finally closes her book, rests her chin on her hands, and grins up at her indignant wife. “Will its battery run out if I leave it on for too long?”_

_Diana stares at her wordlessly, then leans down and very gently touches her chin. They are face to face now, and she is so close Isabel can see nothing but her dark eyes, and they are staring back into hers like there is nothing else in the world. And for a moment, Isabel thinks that maybe she made a mistake, that maybe Diana’s patience with her has run out at last..._

_“Give it to me, Isabel.”_

_Her voice is so soft. Isabel shivers._

_“Come and get it.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“I’m dead.”_

Isabel’s eyes fly open. Her heart is pounding, and the lasso is still lying warm in her clenched fist. The light from the sweet smelling candle Napi had lit is flickering against the wall, flickering against Diana’s beautiful, still, peaceful face. Isabel stares at the ceiling, listening as her racing heart gradually slows, and then she takes a deep breath and turns to bury her face in her lover’s hair.

_Oh, Napi, please hurry._

* * *

The celebrations in the streets at the return of Superman taste sour in Bruce Wayne’s mouth. Lois had laughed, and then cried, and then laughed, and then buried her face in her fiancé's costumed chest before leaving after dinner to return to the Daily Planet. Resurrected boyfriend or no, someone had to write up the newspaper’s report on Steppenwolf’s attack, and Lois Lane was determined that they get it right.

But Martha Kent stays, making tea and fussing over Barry having enough to eat, and listening to Victor’s stories from his days as a college athlete, and breaking up the fights between him and Arthur as they argue about workouts and wrestling. Alfred orders more food and Bruce hears him grumbling about not knowing when the house of Wayne had become a bed and breakfast, but they both know it is a mask for his grief.

And despite the palpable relief at Steppenwolf's death, there is also mourning. Diana had held the team together, and without her there to mediate, they wander around each other, trying to fit in, trying to connect. Clark corners Bruce after Lois leaves, but he waves him away. It has been a long, terrible day, and the alien’s suggestion for a team meeting is the last thing he wants to hear. Besides, the league- or whatever they may call themselves, seems to have reached an unspoken agreement: Nobody goes home. Nobody celebrates. Nobody leaves, not until they’ve decided what to do. And nothing will be decided until morning.

At least, that was the plan.

* * *

It’s nearing midnight, and Bruce is about to buzz Alfred and ask him to show everyone to a guest room when the lights flicker, and the sound of breaking glass can be heard from upstairs. Bruce is on his feet in an instant.

_“Alfred! We're under attack, I need a-”_

And then the door kicks in with a resounding crack.

_How did they get past the security?_

“Stand aside.”

The voice is cold. Bruce feels the team move into position behind him.

“You are trespassing on private-”

But an armored figure emerges from the dark, and Bruce finds himself shoved across the room.

“I said, ‘stand aside’ _mortal_.”

There are two of them. Towering warriors, strong and fierce like Diana, but with none of her softness, with none of her kindness in their hard eyes or the sharp slopes of their shadowed faces. The taller one reaches down and seizes Bruce Wayne around the neck, dangling him in midair.

“Let go of him.”

It is Superman. Stepping forward, coming to the rescue of the man who had tried and failed to kill him, and who had tried and succeeded in bringing him back to life. The warrior stares down at him, and her cold, steely eyes are almost cruel.

“If only you had fought so bravely _earlier_ today.” Her voice is mocking, but there is a tremor of rage underneath. Rage that will destroy everyone, everything.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Clark says evenly as Bruce gasps for air.

The warrior queen scoffs, then lifts the Batman high with one arm, and throws him down onto the concrete floor. The room echoes with the sound of snapping bones. He doesn’t get back up. Clark’s eyes flash, and then he surges forward.

“Master Kent, no!”

“Superman!”

“Clark!”

“You can _not-”_

“Clark, no- let her go. Let her go.”

It is a small voice, barely a whisper, but Superman freezes.

_You’re letting them kill Martha._

The Kryptonian and Amazon stare at each other. His fists are still clenched, his eyes still red, and her sword is raised, teeth bared- ready to kill each and every one of them if need be. Silence rings in the room, and then Clark takes a breath and steps back. Hippolyta’s lip curls in disdain as she stares down at him, then she turns to look at Martha Kent, who is staring up at her, one hand gripping her son’s shoulder, her eyes wide with fear, but glimmering with understanding- a mother’s understanding. The Queen looks away without comment, taking in the sight of Barry and Victor, still leaning over a pile of flickering computer screens, their mouths open in shock and awe, and finally Bruce, panting on the floor... with Arthur kneeling beside him. The Atlantean’s clear blue eyes are filled with apprehension as he stares up at the immortal Amazon Queen.

Hippolyta says nothing, but a look of pure contempt sweeps over her proud features, and then she turns and strolls away without another word. And Menalippe follows, her helmet clutched in one hand, her drawn sword gripped in the other.

* * *

The door bursts open.

Hippolyta hurries forward, but Menalippe stops at the foot of the bed, and her eyes are not on Diana, but on Isabel, who is scrambling to her feet at the sight of her mother-in-law. Old habits die hard, and having a tender moment with her wife interrupted by a disapproving Amazon Queen was not uncommon during their time on Themyscira (Diana would always grin, unashamed, and pull her close as Isabel struggled to pull away, her face bright red, and Hippolyta would roll her eyes and then carry on as if nothing had happened).

But they are not on Themyscira anymore, and although Diana may be here, she can do nothing to protect her wife against her mother’s scowl. But Hippolyta barely glances at Isabel as she bends over her daughter’s still form, and her shaking fingers reach out to touch the jagged hole in her chest.

_What if I promise to be careful? What if I didn’t use a sword? Just a shield- no sharp edges._

_You have been my greatest love. Today..._

Menalippe and Isabel stand in silence as Hippolyta’s fingers trace her daughter’s broken skin. Her touch is so gentle and so tender, Isabel half expects Diana to open her eyes and smile up at her mother's grief-stricken face.

“I _told_ her to be careful,” Hippolyta finally says, her voice sounding abrupt in the still room “I told her, did I not? I told her to be careful in the world of man. But she refused to listen, and I was right. They did not deserve her when she was alive, and they do _not_ deserve her in death.”

“My Queen…” Menalippe murmurs, but Hippolyta pulls off her helmet, and she lets it clatter to the floor as she kneels down beside the bed.

_Oh, Diana…_

And she takes her daughter’s cold, lifeless hand in her own, presses it against her trembling lips, and then bows her head and weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _Hippolyta..._
> 
> I just love her so much, and it's so painful to put her through this! But thanks for reading! We now have 4/6 of the team accounted for, and we'll get one more in the next chapter! Also, sorry for making Hippolyta such a... violent character? But honestly, she's had a rough history with men, and Bruce just popped out of nowhere, so... old habits die hard?
> 
> Also, thank you so much for your reviews and kudos! You are wonderful!


	3. Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One team falls apart, another comes together.

“Only six broken bones, Master Wayne, I’m impressed. You’ve had much worse.”

“Well, that’s great, Alfred, that’s just... great.”

“You might be in less pain if you didn’t talk, little bat.”

“Alfred, _please_ tell me that _someone_ on this team is making good use of their time right now?”

“Settle down, Master Wayne, it will take some time for the anesthetics-”

“I’m scanning through every medical and science journal right now for ways to quickly repair broken bones, but I’m not finding anything that will work fast enough-”

“I... might be able to fuse them back together-”

“By what, _running fast?”_

“Well…”

“Grow up, kid. Things are happening. Those were not ordinary warriors who just came through here right now- and Diana was great- but if her people are going to be like that with every land-dweller they meet, we’re going to have another war. I don’t see another way around it: Atlanteans, Amazons, humans-”

“There’s no need for that kind of war, Mr. Curry. There are greater enemies approaching-”

“Yeah, Mr. Self-Righteous, YOU. Honestly, between _you_ and that _robot_ jumping up to attack anything that moves, and _you_ being a stupid kid, and _you_ being an arrogant son of a bitch, and _Diana_ being dead, I don’t know if I trust _anyone_ on this team to keep it together long enough for any kind of peace to happen. I really don’t.”

“We’re not here to be perfect. We’re here to protect the world.”

“Yeah? When you first tracked me down, you said an attack was coming. You _failed_ to mention that the reason this attack was coming was because _you_ got Superman killed, and now you’ve got Diana killed, and I’m pretty damn sure _I’m_ next-”

“No one is trying to kill-”

“I swear to you, if you have the guts to survive this next attack while the rest of us are dead, I will send the oceans to drag Gotham City down into the sea. And you had better hope you still have the wings to _fly.”_

A tense silence fills the room. No one looks at anyone else.

“Well- I think it’s past everyone’s bedtime. I’ll show you all to the guest rooms- no, stay there, Master Wayne-”

“The anesthetics, yes, I know,” Bruce grumbles, easing himself back down. “Team meeting tomorrow, everyone. Nobody kill anyone between now and then. And Alfred, do something about that door.”

The butler nods once and walks out, and to Bruce’s surprise, everyone follows without complaint.

* * *

_“Riaper.”_

Bruce’s eyes fly open, just in time to see the door fly back together. He blinks. The door is standing innocently in one piece, exactly where it had been all along until Hippolyta burst through.

“...Alfred?”

“No, Bruce, your butler is still upstairs.”

It is a man and a woman. They are walking quickly across the Batcave, clearly in a hurry. One of them, he thinks he recognizes from Diana’s photograph. Hell, at this point, if Steve Trevor walked in and shot him in the face, he wouldn’t be surprised.

The other one he knows.

_“How_ do people keep getting past my security?!” Bruce demands, wincing as pain shoots from his broken ribs. Apparently the painkillers hasn’t quite reached that area yet.

“ _Mih laeh_.”

And just like that, he feels his bones fusing back together. No surgery. No rods or pins. No plaster or fiberglass.

“Zatanna…” he mumbles, struggling to get up, but his body feels like it’s made of lead. Of course. _Now_ the anesthetics want to work.

“Later, Bruce,” he hears her voice calling, and then they are both gone.

* * *

The first thing Zatanna Zatara does when entering the wake of Diana, Princess of Themyscira is rush up to Isabel Maru, seize her hands, kiss both her cheeks, and murmur condolences and reassurances to her in rapid Spanish. They both know the futility of these words, but Isabel kisses the young magician’s cheeks in return, then leads her to the bedside of her dead wife.

The room is heavy with the bitter smell of incense, and Zatanna nods approvingly. The lake overhead had been swarming with the shroud spirits of Death, but none of them had dared to approach.

“Well done, Napi,” she murmurs, glancing over Diana’s pale face. She had never met Wonder Woman when she was alive, but once or twice, she had seen the gorgeous museum curator from the Louve across a crowded room. And once or twice, she had hugged Isabel goodbye and then watched as she rushed off to meet a sleek sports car, and she had caught a glimpse of the grinning woman already sitting inside.

“Welcome, Homo Magi.”

Zatanna startles and notices for the first time the two Amazon warriors who are standing guard in the shadows, almost invisible in the sticky darkness.

“Thank you,” she says awkwardly. She’s spent her entire life in rooms full of unusual individuals, but this…

But the Amazons say no more, and Zatanna returns her attention to the body laid out on the bed. _First things first._ She pushes away the distraction of the immortal figures surrounding her, takes a deep breath, and extends a slender hand, her eyes glowing in concentration as she chants spell after spell. And everyone stares as the gaping hole in Diana’s chest is repaired, the bones, then the organs, then the veins, then the flesh, and then finally, the skin over her throat closes over, good as new.

When she is finished, Menalippe stares at her with newfound respect.

“Well done. The Amazons have been blessed with great powers, but in healing the dead, we can do little.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice,” Zatanna says wryly, bending to inspect her work. Still no pulse. But neither is Diana’s body beginning to show any of the tell-tale signs of decay.

“Hurry, there's no time to lose,” Isabel says, pushing forward, the strain of worry in her voice poorly concealed in her brusque words.

“Of course- hold this candle. Napi, sit here-”

“We will have a minute at most, Zatanna,” the demigod says solemnly, snapping his fingers and lighting the candle in Isabel’s hand.

“I know. Isabel, sit here, take her hand, close your eyes. Napi, light this one, too-”

_“What_ are you doing?” Hippolyta steps forward, her long shadow falling over the bed, and Zatanna recoils.

_“Dnats kcab!_ No- I’m sorry, Your Majesty, you two must stay back, we cannot risk-”

“Zatanna!” Napi shouts. The edges of the room are already beginning to darken. “Focus! They’re here, finish the spell, there’s no time!”

There is an explosion, and the sound of chattering voices, and Isabel closes her eyes and bends down to press her forehead against Diana's. The goddess’ fingers are cold in her right hand, and the burning candle hot in her left.

Zatanna is shouting, and the Batcave has fallen away, the world has fallen away, and they are floating, completely weightless, and… on _fire?!_

_“Leper! Leper!”_

“Send her through after the second explosion, I’ll hold them off!”

The voices have grown louder, angrier, hungrier.

_Demons._

They’re jeering at her, at them, taunting them. But angry, because they are alive, and demons do not walk along the same plane of existence as the living.

“Napi, NOW!”

Another explosion, and the voices shriek in pain. Napi roars, following in pursuit, chasing them away.

But gods… do not exactly walk along the same plane of existence as the living either.

“Isabel, hang on!”

Zatanna’s voice is growing distant. Isabel feels herself falling, and then all has stopped. She opens her eyes to find herself face-first in a sea of grass: bright and green and alive, still slick with the morning dew. Isabel groans and forces her head sideways. The sky overhead is gray, and in the blurred distance, there is a castle. She blinks, still disoriented. The terrible sounds have stopped, replaced by the dull roar of a nearby river, and the ring of clashing steel.

“Hah! You have let yourself slide, Diana!”

The voice is rough, joyous, unfamiliar. But as Isabel sits up and looks towards the source of the sounds, she knows all at once the identity of Diana’s smaller dueling companion.

_Diana..._

They are there, two of them, swords flashing in the strange golden light, so, so far off, even though they are barely a stone's throw away.

“Well, we shall see about that, Antiope!”

And then Diana has rushed forward, sword flashing, bracers reflecting, limbs dancing, and Antiope goes flying across the field, rolling to a stop near Isabel’s fallen body.

They are both laughing, but Diana’s grin drops as she looks past her aunt’s crumpled figure.

“What...?”

_Diana..._

And then Diana is there, kneeling beside her, arms sliding around her, underneath her, lifting her up.

“Isabel... Isabel, why are you here, are you hurt? What has _happened_ to you? ...Isabel, please, say something!”

_Diana..._

But the spell of Zatanna does not allow her the power of speech, and Isabel only has time to press a cold, trembling hand against Diana’s cheek before the world begins to shudder and quake once more.

“No, no,  _no, please_ …”

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Diana had kissed her goodbye before joining her companions on the Batwing, and less than twelve hours had passed since they returned with her dead body, but here and now, it feels like years, decades since they last saw each other.

Because time moves slower in Hell.

And for Diana, centuries have already passed.

_“Isabel…”_

But Isabel cannot answer, and Diana pulls her closer and buries her head in her shoulder, holding her tight.

_Don’t go. Please._

Isabel shakes her head, as if she can shake away the spell’s inevitable end, her hands clinging to her lover like a child, burying herself in her hair, her skin, her hands, her warmth- and then it is gone: the grass, the training ground, Antiope’s still figure in the background, Diana’s arms around her. Isabel jerks painfully as the world falls into place. She’s in Bruce Wayne’s godforsaken home, slumped over Diana’s lifeless body, a cold candle clutched in her hand.

“What did you see?”

“Let her breathe, Hippolyta.”

Menalippe is beside her, shifting her into a more comfortable position over the mussed bedspread, propping up her head with a strong hand. The Queen is pacing impatiently at the foot of the bed, and there, standing against the wall beside the door is Alfred Pennyworth, the covered tray in his hands apparently forgotten. Napi and Zatanna are still sprawled in their chairs, unconscious.

“Isabel?”

“I’m fine.”

She’s not fine, but a strange smile tugs at her lips as she looks up at Menalippe’s worried face.

“I... I saw her.”

Hippolyta is at her side in an instant. She does not speak a command, but her face is tight, her eyes wide with anticipation, with dread.

“She was training.”

“Training?!”

“With…” And Isabel lifts a tired hand to gesture towards Menalippe. The priestess stares down at her, then she, too, smiles. But there are tears in her eyes and she turns to look at her sister.

_Disobeyed, betrayed by my own sister?_

Hippolyta takes a deep breath, and then she turns on her heel and sweeps out of the room, nearly sending Alfred and his tray of food flying into the corner as she pushes past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I'm still having a REALLY hard time finding the right tone of this fic, but thank you for being patient with me while I work it out!~~  
>  Thanks for reading! Almost everyone's accounted for (and unconscious, apparently)... Anyways, thoughts/comments/suggestion are always welcome! :)


	4. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only five people are awake in the House of Wayne before dawn.

Half a decade ago, after completing a tour of performances across Europe, Zatanna Zatara appeared in Isabel Maru’s university office and presented her with a vial of demon blood.

_It’s been five hundred years. He is willing to do anything._

Her former professor had accepted the sample, unfazed, and went immediately to her lab. But weeks passed, to no avail. Jason Blood arrived in person a month later, and she conducted every scientific test on him she could possibly imagine. In the end, she shook her head and showed them out of her department, and they stood together in the empty parking lot. The moon was barely a sliver of light on the dark horizon.

_This is a different world that you live in, Zatanna, this world of magic and spells and curses… it cannot be explained by science. It cannot be solved with science._

“Good morning, Dr. Maru.”

Isabel steps forward, glancing around at the wide room and all of its technological clutter, and she resists the urge to snort.

_What a waste._

Once, she might have loved a lab like this, being back in the trenches of war and weapons and destruction. But so much has happened since World War I. And nearly a century on Themyscira, surrounded by ritual and wisdom and light–and the potential for endless existence–had instilled in her an understanding of the futility of power, and the quiet bliss of peace.

“Where is the Queen?” she says instead, deciding to not fill the former spy’s head with such musings.

“She left a few hours ago, and has not returned. She did not share where she was going.”

“Of course she didn't. Why would she to you?” Isabel asks, her harsh voice sounding almost offended in the still room. Alfred makes some noise that is halfway between a grunt and a sigh, and Isabel drops into the chair beside him, watching the flickering screens. The old butler is still scanning through the numerous computers in the Flying Fox, correcting codes, repairing damages.

“You should get some rest, Doctor,” Alfred states, taking off his glasses and turning to give the chemist his full attention. A lifetime of following the antics of a man like Bruce Wayne has attuned him to the limits of human energy. He knows Isabel has not stopped to properly rest since her fallen wife had been laid at her feet.

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

 _“Another_ one?”

Isabel snorts. “Please, the ones I have summoned have been the more… _friendly_ of the lot.”

Alfred sighs and puts his glasses back on, muttering something too quietly for Isabel to hear.

“What was that?”

Alfred grimaces. “I said that I understand now why Diana made it a point to seek you out after the war.”

“Do you?”

Alfred’s hand grips the computer mouse once more, but the cursor floats aimlessly across the blue screen.

“When Superman died, the world went into mourning. Scientists, politicians, religious leaders, billionaires, his own _family._ They knew better than to challenge Fate. But Dr. _Isabel Maru_ has never let the odds against her deter her path. You never doubted for a second that Diana’s place is in this world, at your side, instead of some box in the ground… and you will stop at nothing until she is returned once more. I know you won’t. And you shouldn’t.”

Isabel does not reply, but her eyes are suspiciously bright as she stares at the strings of codes splattered across the screens. Alfred opens his mouth to say something sentimental, but Isabel beats him to it.

“You need an extra zero and a capital E at the end.”

Alfred stares at her, then turns to look once more at his work. He makes the correction, and then shakes his head as he runs the code and it returns, error-free. Yes, he understands now why Diana sought out the chemist after the end of World War I. What he does _not_ understand is how the goddess has managed to put up with her for all of these years ever since.

* * *

Bruce Wayne wakes before dawn, but Alfred has already set up a table covered with breakfast foods and the morning papers (Lois’ exclusive article about the Steppenwolf attack is on the front page of the Daily Planet, and every other news source has some variation of the report as their main story of the day, with grainy photos of the so-called “Justice League” plastered alongside bold headlines).

The butler is seated at one of his many workstations, but he is not alone. Bruce strides forward at once.

_Alfred, this is still a covert operation. Alfred, don’t tell them all of our secrets. Alfred, don’t talk to her, she’s a former mass murderer who only escaped with her life because an immortal goddess took pity on her. Alfred, stop._

“Good morning, Master Wayne.”

“Alfred, could I speak with you for a minute?”

Isabel glances at him, and her eyes are red, but Bruce doesn’t miss the gleam of amusement in them, as if, like the Kryptonian still sleeping upstairs, she also has some sort of laser vision that can see through his strained, unfriendly voice.

“How is Zatanna?”

The magician and her other friend had still been unmoving when he retired late last night. Both Isabel and Alfred had waved him away, the latter promising to tell him the minute her condition became worse.

“They are both still unconscious. Mena is watching over them,” Isabel replies cooly. Diana’s lasso is coiled around her arm, and Bruce flinches as it begins to glow. But before he can speak, the chemist stands abruptly, turns on her heel and strides away. Alfred gives him a look, but rises without comment and follows Bruce to one of the nooks in the Batcave. The butler is all but tapping his foot with impatience by the time the younger man rounds on him.

“Why is she here?”

“Dr. Maru? She’s here to grieve her dead wife?”

“No. You brought her here, yesterday, without my permission. Why?”

“I invited her to watch the battle from here so she could follow it in real time. There were no news outlets to cover you in Northern Russia, and it seemed a kindness to spare her the wait-”

“Do you _know_ who she is?”

Alfred stares at him, then sighs and looks away. And all at once he looks less like a butler, and more like an old man.

“She is a good woman, Bruce.”

Bruce startles and tries to not look too taken aback by the use of his first name. Alfred is staring directly at him now, and his tired, steely gaze reminds Bruce uncomfortably of their days together when he was still a child.

“She’s killed people, _hundreds,_ if not _thousands.”_

“So have I. And so have you.”

“To protect people. To _save_ people.”

Alfred sighs again, then steps forward and puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“This is a different world. It’s a different world than it was during the Great War. And it’s a different world than the one you’ve been trying to protect all these years.”

“I-”

“Listen to me, Master Wayne. Gotham has instructed you in the ways of predicting evil in people. But you should take a leaf from Diana’s book, and not neglect humankind’s potential for good. She paid a high enough price for us–the _least_ we can do is try to learn from her.”

* * *

They glide soundlessly over the still lake. Shrouds. Demons. Ambassadors of Death.

_You treat with powers beyond your control, Amazon. In the end, even the gods succumb to us._

And they are right. Once, Hippolyta had watched the gods raining down from the sky, one by one. Once, Zeus had come to her in the night, and beside her campfire on the rugged battleground, he had told her of his plan.

_We are fighting a losing battle. We will fight, and we will lose. But you, my valiant champion, will live. You will live out your days in peace. And one day, the world will follow._

And then he had given her the most precious of gifts: the gift of hope, the gift of life, the gift of her beautiful, fearless daughter.

“Excuse me.”

She turns at the sound of a small voice. Martha Kent is standing beside her, a cup of tea in her hands. She lifts it up towards the taller woman like an offering.

“I thought you might like… it’ll warm you up.” Martha does not comment on Hippolyta’s bare arms, or the way her armor parted to reveal a pair of very long legs as she turned to face her. But Themyscira is a warm tropical island, and a chilly morning breeze is rolling off of the dark lake. Martha is already shivering beneath her sweater.

Hippolyta accepts the cup from her, lifts it to her lips, and takes a small sip. The tea is hot, tangy, and dark. It tastes of home, of night watches on the walls of Themyscira, of early mornings between cotton sheets. The steam rises from the shimmering surface to brush gently against her face, then she lowers the cup to the saucer once more.

“Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m Clark’s mother.”

“That boy? You are mistaken,” the Queen scoffs.

“I mean, no. I’m his adopted mother. He crashed when he was just a baby, in Smallville, and John found him, and brought him home and we-”

“You. Who are _you,”_ Hippolyta interrupts, her eyes narrowing as she turns to look directly at the shorter woman.

“I…” And Martha Kent thinks somewhere in the back of her head that she should take a step back, that maybe standing so close to a queen is forbidden. “I’m no one. I’m just a girl from Kansas, a… a boring old waitress-”

“No, you are not.”

“I’m not?” Martha says, bemused.

“No.” Hippolyta reaches out and touches the gray, moonlit strands of hair brushing against the shoulders of Martha’s knit sweater.

“Woven with wisdom,” she says solemnly. “Time has turned it to polished silver.”

“Oh, everyone’s hair does that. It’s…” _not a good sign, in this world,_ Martha means to say, but she eyes Hippolyta’s golden curls and the way the Queen’s fingers brush so reverently against her own, and she thinks that maybe it’s not such a bad thing, really.

“Mankind has done this to you.”

Martha startles. Hippolyta has taken a step back and is taking another sip from her cup of tea, her eyes unmoving from her face.

“...what?”

“They made you into a woman who doubts her own place, her own worth in their world.”

“What? I–no! John, he was a good man, my father was a good–they never...”

“Perhaps. But mankind has taught you that your place is in their shadows.”

“Well, we can’t _all_ be queens,” Martha jokes, offering the proud Amazon a quick smile before quickly glancing away when it is not returned. And she smiles again to herself as a thought flits into her mind, the image of what might happen if this formidable woman were to appear on her doorstep, the hem of her cloak sweeping over those porch steps Martha been meaning to repaint for months, how her dog would bark to high heaven, like he always did with strangers, how her neighbors necks would crane, how her coworkers would stare over the diner counter.

“No, I’m perfectly happy to be… to be invisible. To be a spectator. It’s women like Lois who want everything, who want to know everything, understand everything. And she will. The world is changing, people are starting to think outside the box–and who knows, maybe then we’ll _finally_ have some peace and quiet.”

Martha Kent shakes her head, then gathers up the cup and saucer Hippolyta had set onto the railing beside them. A strong hand wrapped in leather catches her elbow, stopping her, and she freezes. But the grip is gentle, and when she looks up, the shadowed eyes staring back into hers are almost soft.

“Do not serve me again.”

“I…” But Martha’s mouth is dry, and she doesn’t know if it’s from terror or bewilderment. The Queen of Themyscira releases her and steps back, leaving Martha to stare up at her. But the tall Amazon only smiles, a fierce, menacing smile, and then she turns and begins to walk away.

“And next time, bring a cup for yourself,” she says over her shoulder, and then she nods into the darkness. “Hellblazer.”

Martha startles. Her mortal eyes hadn’t noticed as the invisible shrouds of death screeched and scattered… or as the House of Mystery materialized over the still water. But her mouth falls open as the Amazon draws her sword and leaps up into the sky. And then a new figure strolls across the lake, glancing casually up at the quickly departing Queen.

“Huh. Was it something I said?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constantine, you arrogant little...
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!! Please do let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions or characters you'd like to see! :)
> 
> The next chapter will cover the JL's 8am meeting (honestly, Bruce, normal people need more than 5 hours of sleep!), and Isabel and Constantine's attempt at contacting Diana.


	5. Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantine and Isabel take a trip, Hippolyta and Bruce have a civilized conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Angst

John Constantine lights a cigarette. He’d never been a fan of the Bat. The ridiculous costume, the fancy cars, those stupid little metal things that are supposedly meant to stop bullets or scare monsters or fight climate change–and then there’s his stubborn inability to actually put a _stop_ to criminals.

But the Batcave is impressive. After all, it _is_ impressive what money can buy nowadays: weapons, technology, power, superheroes...

“Ah, Dr. Maru, I believe there’s a visitor here to see you...”

The man’s voice is annoyed, and John smirks. Apparently Dr. Poison has taken command in Gotham City. Serves them right.

“The Queen’s up there, battling some parademons by herself,” John says, casually flicking ash onto the spotless floor, ignoring the butler’s pointed scowl.

“Alfred, send something up there to help her.” Isabel Maru has appeared, waving an impatient hand at them both.

“It–it looks like she’s already on her way down-”

But Dr. Maru is already strolling away, leaving John to follow. Alfred Pennyworth glances up from the computer screens, his mouth still open in mid-sentence, but she’s already gone. John tosses his cigarette into a nearby trash can and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

“It’s a strange thing for you, isn’t it, Freddy… watching people actually getting things _done.”_

And then he’s sauntering away before the outraged butler can reply.

 

* * *

 

“Alfred said you took care of some parademon spies earlier. Thank you for that.”

She doesn’t answer, and Bruce clears his throat, stepping forward.

“I… we’re having a meeting after breakfast. I would appreciate it if you could join us. We would welcome your insights on Steppenwolf and his people.”

Her back is to him as she stares at the spray-painted armor, so tall before the glass case, she would have been looking him in the eye if he had been there, staring back at her with his blue eyes, and his black hair, and his bruised and bloodied skin.

“How did he die?” The Queen’s voice is cool, but it is no longer heavy with rage. She does not turn to look at him.

_I was too late._

“A crowbar,” Bruce says, moving through the shadows towards her. She’s still in her Amazonian armor, and her hand tightens on the hilt of her sword as he approaches. It’s already cleaned of the parademon remains, its steel edge gleaming in the soft light. But she says nothing as he steps up next to her, and he is reminded of another time he stood beside a woman at a display case, and he told her things she already knew.

_Oh, I don’t think you’ve ever known a woman like me._

And she had been right.

“I put it here, out in the open, so then I would see it every day. As a reminder.”

Hippolyta’s brow furrows as she turns and stares unflinchingly down at him. And Bruce keeps his gaze steady as he forces himself to stare back. Diana had been such a paradox, so wise and beautiful and determined to treat all humans with dignity and respect, it had been easy to forget that she was thousands of years old, that she was the most dangerous creature to walk the earth.

But there is none of that doubt when it comes to the Queen of the Amazons.

“A reminder of what?”

She sounds disinterested. But he supposes the lives and habits of petty human men would not interest her.

“That every death is blood on my hands.”

“Is that why his _killer_ is still alive?”

The disdain has crept back into her voice, and Bruce scowls.

“Our job is not to decide who lives or dies. We’re not here to avenge, we’re here to protect the innocents, the world, people’s right to live without fear. We can’t live in the past... I’ve tried.”

Hippolyta’s lip curls, then she steps back, her eyes flickering over Jason Todd’s ruined armor once more. And then she turns and walks away.

“I will provide counsel at this meeting, Bruce Wayne,” she says over her shoulder. She has nearly reached the main room of the Batcave, where the rest of the league is milling around, eating breakfast, and trying to not kill each other.

“Besides,” she adds as he strides forward to catch up with her. “I have called upon an old ally. I believe he may be helpful in the battle against Darkseid.”

“Oh, I’ll be helpful all right,” a new, overconfident voice says from behind them, and Bruce jerks his head around to stare at the speaker. “But don’t forget that the rings have failed to protect hundreds of Lanterns in the past, and– _Barry?!”_

And the Flash pushes forward, his half-eaten slice of pizza drooping from one hand, and a look of incredulous surprise on his face.

 _“Hal?!”_  

 

* * *

 

Hell is on fire.

But it is not the fire of punishment, but the fire of war.

John Constantine swears. Of course when the strange chemist from World War I had called and said something about attacking aliens and dead goddesses and Zatanna, he had dropped his beer and packed up at once. He was never one to leave his friends, as often as he hoodwinked or deceived or infuriated them. _Jason Blood…_ he thinks as he glances down at Isabel Maru’s surprisingly unfazed face. But perhaps she has seen stranger things in her lifetime than The Dead vs. The Demons. He certainly has.

“Trouble?”

“Just a little complication,” he mutters. So the underworld has revolted at last. And at the same time that the ancient enemies from Apokolips suddenly reappear on Earth? John shakes his head and concentrates on scanning the churning valley. Maybe he should’ve just drunk that last beer and slept through this whole damn thing.

“Ever been to hell before, Dr. Maru?” he asks, casually tossing out a search spell. His other hand creeps towards his pocket for his box of cigarettes, but he stops himself. The last thing he needs is for him and Zee to start running through the “smoking habit” argument in the middle of the apocalypse.

“Been there? I _lived_ there for years.”

He laughs humorlessly, then leads her out of the protective bubble of his spell and onto the sharp stones and bone fragments that cover the valleys of Tartarus. They’re in the middle of a battle: voices screaming, blades flashing, weapons firing, the Amazons, the Old Gods, the aliens, the Atlanteans, and the mortals, all moving together to attack the demons who have tormented them for too long.

John Constantine pulls hard on Isabel’s elbow, and they’re transported to an alcove near the top of one of the mountains lining the horizon.

“Stay here with her! I’m going to find the others!”

And then he is gone, before Isabel can ask a single question. But how many decades, how many centuries has it been that Zatanna and Napi have been here, suspended in time, fighting demons, year after year after year? She squints, and she thinks she can almost see them, a magician and a demigod in the midst of the clamor of war. But that’s Constantine’s concern now. Isabel pulls her jacket tighter around herself and turns around, wondering why he left her here at the peak of this freezing mountain. And then-

_Diana…_

She is there, chained to the face of the stone, skin bloody and torn, head hanging, arms spread, like some crude crucifixion. Her armor is battered and ripped to reveal a deep, fresh gash in her side.

Isabel rushes up the final few yards, heedless of the pain as her leather boots are cut open by the loose shale.

_Diana… my darling, lift your head and tell me who has done this to you._

But she can’t speak. She can only reach out with a trembling hand to touch her, to press her fingertips against her lover’s oozing wound. But her hand pushes through without resistance and meets cold stone. Isabel freezes.

_No… that is impossible._

But perhaps it isn’t. After all, time moves more slowly in hell. Is it altogether impossible that Diana, Princess of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta has finally been rendered a shade, a true spirit of death?

The stone above her head has been carved with some ancient language. Isabel cannot read the proclamation, but two symbols she understands: _leader_ and _rebellion._

“Isabel...”

Isabel curses, stumbling back in surprise as Diana’s eyes flutter.

_Princesa…_

Isabel wants to reach out to touch her bruised face, her matted hair, her cracked lips, but her hand lingers in midair, and then she bites back a howl of rage, steps forward, and presses her cheek against the frigid stone beside her lover’s ghost.

“I’m here.”

“You must… you must go.”

“No.”

_“Isabel-”_

“I’m not leaving you.”

“He’ll be here soon, he’ll hurt you, I can’t-”

“Shh, my darling, do you think I came without weapons?”

Diana throws back her head, groaning in pain and frustration, twisting around, trying in vain to scan the smoky sky. But her restraints are unyielding, and she falls back against the wall with a gasp. Her wrists and ankles are raw from the shackles, but her armor is stained black with demon blood. Clearly, she was not captured without a fight.

“Isabel, you _must,_ I will _not_ allow you to-”

“Quiet, _Princesa,_ I hear something.”

Her voice is sharper than she intended, but she realizes that she recognizes the strange sound: Wings, flapping against the howling wind, growing louder and louder. Isabel raises her head as the sky before them is eclipsed by the sight of a bird. Never in her life has Isabel seen such an enormous beast–what ghostly creature of old is this, this deadly predator, this winged monster hovering before them like some demented helicopter, like some ill-fated experiment?

Isabel steps back, her hand slipping into her pocket, her mind racing. All of her careful calculations, all of her experiments and expertise fall to nothing in a single moment. She knows now that the shade before her is walking upon a different plane of existence than she, that it is intangible to her. And poisons that cannot aggravate and wrestle with substance are futile.

“Isabel, please, _go.”_

“I said no.”

The eagle lets out a scream when its beady eye spots her. Its beak is sharp.

And then the Lasso of Hestia leaps forward, looping around its feathered neck again and again–the beast lets out a strangled shriek of rage and thrashes in midair as the rope begins to glow–and then Isabel whispers a command in Ancient Greek, and the giant bird falls, down and down and down into the gloom below. The mountain shudders as it collapses at the foot, its neck snapped in two.

“What in God’s name was _that?”_

John Constantine floats up beside them, and his eyes widen at the sight of Wonder Woman in chains, and the glowing lasso of truth snaking its way down steep mountain, disappearing into the dust still billowing around the monster’s body. Isabel is standing before him, feet planted in loose shale, bloodlust burning in her eyes. He takes a step back. Zatanna and Napi are hovering beside him, bound in sticky cords of magic, eyes closed, bodies limp, protected by a shimmering sphere.

“Dr. M-”

“Go. Take them and return, and tell the Queen what has happened.”

“The _Queen?”_

“Yes.”

John raises a hand, readying the spell for another sphere, but Isabel waves it away.

“No.”

“You can’t stay-”

“I will.”

“Isabel, _please…”_ Diana’s voice is so faint, Isabel can barely hear it above the din. But she turns to face her, and her living heart skips a beat. Perhaps one day Diana will disappear, leaving behind these chains, leaving Isabel to stare at the empty face of this godforsaken mountain. Or perhaps they will remain here for years upon years, until time itself is meaningless, and the battle is over, and the warriors have been defeated once more, and the demons have crowded around to torment them both.

But too much time has already been lost. She is here, and Diana is here, and here they will stay, together, until the end.

“Go.”

John gives a short nod, raises his hand, and then he disappears, taking Napi and Zatanna’s shades with him. And for a moment it is silent, then Diana lets out an anguished cry and rounds on her stubborn wife, straining against her shackles.

“Why?! _Why_ did you do that? I can’t–you can’t...” she demands, her eyes flashing, teeth bared, and Isabel is reminded of the first time they met, the dark lab, the burning tarmac…

But she doesn’t answer as she tugs on the lasso, and its sidles its way up the side of the mountain, glowing softly against Isabel’s skin, against Diana’s tear-streaked face. Isabel reaches up silently and wraps the rope around the goddess’ waist, binding the wound that had been opened and healed a thousand times over. And Diana’s eyes widen as the lasso tightens against her aching side, dulling the relentless throb of pain. And then she chokes back a sob as Isabel kneels down and buries her face in the glowing cords.

_“Isabel, why…”_

Isabel can feel Diana’s body trembling as she weeps. But she’s trembling too, as she embraces her lover as best she can, separated by a thing that is too terrible to acknowledge: life and death, heaven and hell, both of them, lingering, perhaps forever, in this miserable world.

“You know why.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I… realize that I use that phrase too many times in my WonderPoison fics. But it’s the WonderPoison equivalent of “I love you”(!!!) and I refuse to apologize.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, school has been kicking my butt!


	6. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Justice League has its first meeting, and they learn what they're really up against.

Martha Kent is standing in the corner of the Batcave, watching as these people, these _heroes_ mingle about with their breakfast plates. Ten minutes earlier, the gruff, bearded man had emerged from the lake without a shirt, prompting the poor boy with metal arms and legs to mutter something about mermaids, and then the Aquaman had asked him to repeat that little comment, and the butler had rushed into the room and asked everyone to _please_ settle down and eat their breakfast because Master Wayne wanted to start the meeting at 8AM precisely.

And so Arthur Curry paces up and down the room, downing a bottle of whiskey, and Barry drinks a mug of hot chocolate while eating his fifth slice of pizza. Victor stands alone in the shadows, hoodie up, head bowed, listening to something none of the rest of them can hear. Clark left an hour ago to pick up Lois from the office.

And Martha stares out of this window, looking at nothing. The cup of tea in her hand has long since emptied, and the murmured conversations around the room keep straying to topics she can’t follow. Somewhere out there, Jonathan's old truck and the U-haul are parked outside of Lois and Clark’s apartment. She wonders if anyone would notice if she left.

“More tea, Mrs. Kent?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Alfred, you really shouldn’t-”

But the butler has already moved on, gone before she can tell him to not go through any trouble. There’s a commotion, and Barry drops his pizza as he runs forward to punch a man in green. She gives a small smile, then looks out the window again.

_Mankind has taught you that your place is in their shadows._

They said that she returned at dawn, that creature who lived up to her title of Queen in every way. She had killed some enemy spies, they said, and then went directly to her child’s bedside.

 _I’m sorry about your daughter. I understand what it’s like, to lose a child,_ she had meant to say earlier, but some strange things about being old, and her husband, and the changing society had slipped out instead. Martha laughs to herself and crosses her arms, staring down at the stone floor, an embarrassed flush creeping up over her cheeks at the memory. She had watched the sky for a long time after the Queen had disappeared. And when she didn’t return, Martha had gone back inside, the empty teacup still clutched in her shaking hands.

“Alone?”

Martha jumps. The cool, detached voice is accompanied by gentle fingers pressing lightly against her back, and, as if she had read her mind, the woman herself moves up beside her.

“Yes. Well. Not anymore.” She smiles up at the tall Amazon Queen, but she does not smile in return. Martha stares, then shakes her head, looking away.

“No, no, it’s nothing. It’s just, I'm—I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” she says quietly as she glances around the room. They’d all changed into their suits before breakfast, as if they knew today they would need their alter egos.

_It’s like they’re all from a different world… Clark’s world._

The warm hand moves over her shoulder blades and up to the back of her neck, fingers combing through her thick gray hair. She shivers and raises her head, daring a glance at the Queen’s face. The Amazon woman towers over her, but her eyes are soft, and her lips are curled in amusement as she leans forward. Her skin, scrubbed clean of parademon gore, smells fresh, like forests, or rivers, or fields, or whatever the paradise that this woman rules smelled like.

“It is for _you_ that they fight,” she says, her voice a low, pleasant murmur in her ear. “Where would they be without you?”

 _Probably still here, doing the exact same thing,_ Martha thinks dryly. But she knows what she means and mutters an awkward, unintelligible thank you. The Queen doesn’t reply, but her hand lingers against the back of her head, and Martha reaches out to smooth her hand over the soft pelt draped over the woman’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry about your daughter. I–I know what it’s like, to lose a child,” she says instead, but it sounds all wrong, all rushed and abrupt. Hippolyta does not answer, but her eyes darken and she looks away.

“My daughter is not lost.”

Hippolyta falls silent once more, and somewhere in a distance, someone is saying something about a meeting and making their way to the meeting room. Somewhere in a distance, Martha knows Clark has moved up to stand beside her, his cloak still snapping in the wake of his flight. Somewhere in a distance, the Queen has reached up to cup her face, and is bending down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You are not lost, either, human woman.”

And then the Queen is gone.

“Ma?”

Martha shakes her head, wondering why she suddenly feels so emotional. But she remembers the morning after Clark’s death: the haze, the disbelief, the dull, throbbing pain in her bones, like her body was refusing to move through a world where Clark was no longer alive.

“...Ma?”

“I’m sorry, honey, good mor...” But Martha’s smile falters when she notices her son’s frown. “Clark, what's wrong?”

Superman looks from his mother to Hippolyta, then back to his mother.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course.”

“What did she want?” he asks, the worry line between his eyes deepening as he stares down at his strong, fragile, _human_ mother.

“Oh, you know. Us worried mothers have to stick together.”

“She’s a dangerous–we don’t even know if she’ll fight on our side-”

“Oh, Clark,” Martha sighs, patting her son on his caped shoulder. “Didn’t you watch the news? _You_ didn’t even know which side you were on twelve hours ago.”

“Well, _thirteen_ hours ago, I wasn’t capable of being helpful to _anyone.”_

Martha gives a laugh that is maybe a little more teary than usual as she hugs her son, and then he’s leaving with the others. And she steps forward to stand beside Alfred Pennyworth, and together they watch as the Justice League makes its way into their meeting.

 

* * *

 

“I remember you. You appeared, on the training ground. Diana cried for weeks after you disappeared.”

Isabel raises her head. The valleys below have fallen eerily silent, broken only by a stray wolf’s howl, or a cry from deep within the crevices of Tartarus. A shadow stands tall before her, spear in hand. Diana is asleep, the lasso pulsing slightly as she breathes. Still, she breathes.

Still, there is hope.

“General,” Isabel whispers, struggling to rise.

“No, daughter. Stay.”

Antiope lifts the edge of the lasso and kneels to press it lightly against the living woman’s cheek.

“Is it over?”

“Soon. Soon we will be free. You have done well, Isabel Maru.”

Isabel looks down to where her hand is bound together with Diana’s ankle. Already, it has been centuries, crouched here at her lover’s shackled feet. Already, time has become meaningless in this sunless world. She is so weak. She is so tired

“I told your wife, you know… afterwards,” Isabel mumbles, reaching down to brush her fingers against the glowing lasso. Her eyes are already heavy, her voice slurred with exhaustion. “...that you and Diana were training.”

_Mena..._

Antiope smiles a fierce smile, but her eyes are glimmering as she turns away.

 _“Soon,”_ she repeats.

And then she is gone.

_Diana…_

Isabel drags herself to her feet and presses a lassoed hand to her lover’s cheek.

“Diana?”

But the goddess doesn’t move.

 

* * *

 

_Enemies are coming. Greater enemies. Stronger enemies. Join with me. Help me protect the world._

Somewhere in the middle of the Batman’s grim speech, Aquaman has enough. The heads around the table startle as he rises and bangs his trident onto the stone floor.

“Look here, Bruce Wayne. You said yourself that this team needed a leader that isn’t you. You brought back this dead man to lead, and he almost killed all of us. I know I’m in your house, but you’re fooling yourself if you think I’ll follow you. Maybe when you were younger and your boys were still alive and you weren’t so damn reckless. But I won’t. I don’t care if these other think I’m not a team player, I’m not doing it. I’ll listen, but I’m following my gut and making no promises.”

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Once, he lost his temper and Wonder Woman shoved him across the Batcave. He doesn’t want to find out what Aquaman’s trident can do.

“We… are stronger together, Arthur.”

“And if we’d all attacked Steppenwolf _together,_ maybe Diana would still be alive.”

Bruce closes his eyes and sits back down. He does not reply.

“Well, great. I’m glad I came to this meeting,” Hal Jordan says, twisting the ring on his finger. “Anyone else?”

“Gravitational waves have been increasing since Steppenwolf’s death,” Victor says in his soft, solemn voice, ignoring the newcomer’s snark. “I’ve been checking every hour. If it keeps up at this rate, humans will be able to physically feel the vibrations within a few days.”

“I noticed that, too,” Clark says, raising his head. “But I thought it was just aftershock from the Mother Box. So many flares of power within such a short period of time-”

“It’s not that,” Arthur interrupts, sitting back down now that Bruce Wayne is quiet. “The tides all over the world have been coming in off. Nowhere near where Steppenwolf or the Mother Boxes were. It makes no sense.”

“Your Majesty, would you allow us to question the parademon you captured this morning? It could have some information about this.”

“She captured a _parademon?!”_

But Hippolyta ignores Barry Allen’s awed whisper, and nods curtly at Clark Kent’s request. She rises and waves a hand towards the corner, and Menalippe steps forward with a covered steel cage. She sets it down at her Queen’s feet with a bow, and then steps away. And when Hippolyta lifts the cover, the sleeping parademon inside wakes and begins to screech. Bruce curses under his breath and pushes a button, muttering into his shoulder, _Alfred, get in here._

“Umm… what’s he saying?” Barry asks, his thumbs twiddling as he tries to quash his fear of insects and strange noises and torture. Hal rolls his masked eyes at his friend and makes a shushing motion with his hand.

“He says he will not speak with us,” Victor mutters.

“I can make him speak,” Arthur growls, rising and hefting his trident. Hippolyta raises a hand.

“That is not our way, Orin Atlan-son.”

Arthur stares at her. His knuckles are white.

“I watched your daughter _die_ in front of my eyes, Your Highness. If this _thing_ has information that can prevent more deaths, more destruction on earth, then we need to-”

“That is not our way,” Hippolyta repeats, strolling forward. “You. Bring the incense.”

Alfred disappears from where he’d been standing in the doorway, returning a moment later with a bronze bowl filled to the brim with some strange herbs.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, I did what I could,” he mutters, acutely aware of Bruce staring at him in disbelief from the head of the table. “Unfortunately, I could not locate everything you requested, perhaps if Dr. Maru were here she could have found-”

“This will do,” the Queen says cooly, setting the bowl down before the squirming parademon. It lets out a dry, piercing wail.

“You. Stand here and translate for the others.”

Victor startles, but he moves forward at Hippolya’s command, his metal feet clanking against the concrete floor as he takes his place on the other side of the parademon. The Queen murmurs a few words, and then the contents in the bowl begin to smoke.

The parademon stops struggling and sits up. Hippolyta raises its chin with the tip of her sword, then says something in a high, keening language. The parademon opens its mouth, revealing a line of rotting, jagged teeth.

“He says he is a spy of Lord Darkseid, sent with ten others from Apokolips,” Victor translates as the parademons speaks. Bruce rises abruptly and moves forward to stand with the others, coming to get a closer look.

“He says they reached word that General Steppenwolf had been defeated, and that the Mother Boxes remain in the possession of the earth dwellers. Lord Darkseid has decided to continue with his plan. He...”

The parademon suddenly mashes its head against the bars of the cage, but they hold strong. Hippolyta speaks a sharp command and the contents of the bowl flare. The spicy, potent cloud of smoke sends Hal into a fit of coughing. The rest of the league looks back and forth from robot, to Amazon, to parademon, waiting, uncertain.

“...he is begging for death,” Cyborg translates grimly as the parademon begins to speak again. “He says he once lived on Mars, and Steppenwolf attacked his planet. He was changed into his current form during the battle and forced to fight against his own people. He is begging for death. He is begging… he…”

Cyborg’s voice trails off as the parademon begins to chant. His human eye opens wide with shock, but his red eye begins to glow softly.

“No!” Hippolyta shouts as Cyborg stumbles forward, armor shimmering. She raises her hand and speaks a handful of low, musical words, and flames billow up from the bowl of burning herbs. The parademon shrieks, then collapses face-first onto the floor. Victor freezes in mid-step, the red light in his chest flaring angrily, then dying down once more.

The room is silent, pulsing with ominous energy.

“Was that…?” Victor's voice is low, strangled. Hippolyta nods once, and he slides down to his knees and covers his face with shaking metal hands.

“My Queen…” Menalippe murmurs, and Hippolyta raises her head. Her sister nods toward the table, where the rest of the league is staring at her.

_Loneliness. Alienation. Fear. Despair._

“Kal-El, are you well?” Hippolyta says, looking sharply at the Kryptonian, knowing that, besides the Cyborg, he is the only one in danger. The Amazons had learned the language of Apokolips millennia ago, when Steppenwolf had invaded. Victor Stone was implanted with this knowledge when the Mother Box rebuilt his ruined body. Clark Kent attained it when the Mother Box brought him back to life.

_Self-worth. Mockery. Condemnation. Misunderstanding._

“I’m… I’m fine. He didn’t finish. It must be stopped. He–he cannot...”

“It wasn’t death,” Victor whispers. “I thought it was death, I thought he was saying death. I…”

_Guilt. Shame. Failure. Judgement._

“He was not asking for death,” she says numbly. No one speaks. “He was not asking for death.”

_Hope is folly._

“What… was he asking for, then?” Barry asks hesitantly, his eyes darting around the table, unsure if he’d missed something.

_Love is lies._

“The opposite of life...”

_Life is death._

“Anti-Life.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure about this chapter, but thanks for reading to the end!! Sorry it got a bit long, I just wanted to establish a little more what kind of Darkseid the JL is up against before they run out there and start beating things up!
> 
> Next chapter, Constantine brings word of the Underworld revolt to Hippolyta...


	7. Action Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantine returns with Napi and Zatanna. Hippolyta learns of her daughter's fate in the Underworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Angst.
> 
> Also, the end of this chapter is a terrible cliffhanger, so I'm going to upload the next chapter later tonight.

Zatanna Zatara opens her eyes. Gray ceiling, strong incense, plush chair. Napi groans and sits up beside her.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” she grumbles. “ _ahcadaeh siht esaE.”_

The pain shooting through her head clears, and then she sees John Constantine in the corner, brushing the dust off his jacket.

And then she remembers.

And she’s on her feet in a second, hurling towards him, hands crackling with magic.

“YOU _FUCKING_ –YOU–WE WANTED TO STAY. WE _WANTED_ TO STAY, AND YOU–HOW DARE YOU, HOW _DARE_ YOU DECIDE–HOW DARE YOU BRING US BACK WITHOUT-”

 _“Calm_ yourself, Magi.”

The voice of Menalippe does not stop Zatanna from screaming and pummeling John Constantine with punches, but the Amazon warrior’s strong grip around her does.

“Sorry, love, doctor’s orders,” John drawls in that dry, uninterested, _heartless_ way of his. Zatanna sobs and wretches herself away from Menalippe’s grip, reaching out to steady herself against a chair. It is so strange to breathe air, to be weighed down by gravity, to not be fighting and searching…

_Diana… they’d captured Diana, the Amazons were screaming in rage, the demons were streaming over the mountains, thousands upon thousands, and Napi was crying as he rushed forward to meet them, flames licking up and down his outstretched arms, and everything was a blur, an endless blur of demons and warriors, and old men trying to stumble out of the way, and children cowering in the foothills, and women shrieking and men shouting, and the Amazons had demanded their princess, and the demons had demanded their submission, and the general had leapt up from her horse and beheaded the messenger with a single stroke, and the Old Gods had descended from the looming sky, and then everything was a blur, an endless, muddled blur..._

“We were fighting, John, we were _fighting,_ and we were _winning,”_  Zatanna snaps, snatching up a candle and taking a deep breath as she bends down to check Diana’s heartbeat. Still nothing, but her body is warm, not stiff and cold as a day-old corpse should be.

“Look, Zee, there’s no time for this. If you want to lodge a formal complaint, you can take it up with Dr. Maru when she gets back,” John retorts, throwing up his hands and sweeping out of the room. Zatanna slams the candle onto the nightstand and stalks after him.

“Don’t think you can just walk away this time, don’t think you can just– _God,_ John, you are the most despicable, infuriating, _immoral_ …”

“Zatanna...”

A soft voice interrupts her barrage of insults, and she spins and glares at Napi’s solemn face. He’s handing her a glass of water from a tray beside the door, and she takes it without question. Her head is still spinning as she gives an angry sigh and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. Last night, a demigod had appeared at her doorstep, and she had invited him in to watch the news coverage of the Steppenwolf attack, but he had shaken his head and told her about what the television had missed: Isabel Maru’s wife was dead, and the chemist was asking for help.

Napi kneels beside Diana’s body, murmurs a prayer, then raises his head and gives a small smile.

“Soon.”

 

* * *

 

Alfred sees him coming and hurries to press a button on one of the computers.

“Ah, sir, Mr. Constantine would like to have a wor-”

“Not with him,” the occultist says, strolling past the butler and making his way directly into the meeting room. Two costumed figures leap to their feet at the interruption, but he simply raises an eyebrow as he glances over the guarded faces. “Forgive me for interrupting the, ah, _tights and capes_ meeting, but I need to speak with the Queen.”

Hippolyta turns from her vigil at the high windows. After the parademon had been taken away and the arguments about Anti-Life had begun, the proud Amazon had refused to return to the table, choosing instead to stand and stare out at the empty blue sky. No one had questioned her.

“Approach,” she orders stiffly, suspiciously. John stares at her–demon hunter though he may be, he is still a human man–then inclines his head almost mockingly as he strolls forward.

“John, isn’t there anything you can share with everyone? We’re all here to hel-”

“Stow it, Batty, you’ve done enough,” he snaps, then he leans forward, his lips curled into an almost apologetic smile, and he whispers into Hippolyta’s ear.

The hand she’d raised to shove him away freezes in mid-air.

He keeps speaking.

And then she closes her eyes.

He steps away.

There is a moment of silence.

“What’s happened?” Arthur Curry asks, glancing around. But Clark just shakes his head and covers his face with his hands. John takes another step back. The silence grows sticky, uncomfortable, but no one dares to speak as the Queen slowly raises her head.

“How strong are you, magician?”

“It depends on what you want me to do, Your _Majesty,”_ John Constantine answers with a cheeky, but empty grin. Hippolyta glares at him. “Can you be a little more specific? Or should I lead?”

The grief in her expression is wiped away in a second, replaced with cold, bitter rage. John stumbles back as Hippolyta seizes him by the front of his shirt and pulls him up so then they are face to face.

“You are corrupt-”

“True.”

“Pathetic-”

“Also true.”

“Why should I trust my daughter’s fate to you?”

John glances down at the floor, twelve inches below his swinging feet. Hippolyta shifts her grip to seize him around the throat, holding him up with only one hand.He gives a pointed cough, fumbling in his pockets as best he can while defying gravity and being choked.

“Your daughter-in-law…”

“What of her.”

“She called in a favor.”

“A _favor?!”_

John rolls his eyes as he pulls out his box of cigarettes.

“Well, if you _must_ know…”

_Experiments… drugs, alcohol, binge-drinking to quiet the demons, the voices, “Special alcohol, I think,” she’d said with a slightly maniacal laugh, a special formula to silence the demon chatter in his mind, and it’d worked, he’d drunk the bottle dry and slept better than he had for years–and the next day he’d gone back to beg her for more, and Wonder Woman had been standing there in the middle of the lab, kissing that mad little scientist like the world was ending–_

“It’s a bit of a long story, Your Highness. Can we discuss it on the way to Tartarus? Or maybe over dinner sometime?” John says casually, his eyes gleaming. The grip around his throat tightens, making him wheeze. _Dammit, John, you don't mess with the Amazons, especially right after delivering bad news..._ The box of cigarettes tumbles out of his hand to the floor. Then Hippolyta tosses him across the room, and he crumples against the wall, already forgotten.

“Menalippe.”

The Amazon priestess appears, sword in hand, but Hippolyta waves it away. The tall warrior looks confused, but Hippolyta’s gaze sweeps around the room as she approaches her sister. The Kryptonian. The Atlantean. The humans. The demigod, the Homo Magi, the Green Lantern, the metahumans–all the tribes of man, come together once more, unified against the evil of Apokolips.

Menalippe stands tall before her, ready to serve her Queen. She is so close, Hippolyta can feel her breath on her face, and something inside of her threatens to break, but she reaches up to grip Menalippe’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“Return to Themyscira. Deploy our armies. The Amazons will fight alongside mankind once more.”

“My Queen.” Menalippe bows and turns away, but Hippolyta catches her arm.

“...Mena.”

The priestess pauses, staring up at Hippolyta’s face. Her hand is shaking.

“My Queen?” she says again, her eyes dark with concern. Hippolyta does not look at her, but she reaches up and cups her cheek, her calloused palm gentle against weathered skin, and then she closes her eyes and leans in to kiss her. It is a kiss between warriors, sisters. A kiss of farewell.

_Hippolyta, no..._

But she doesn’t reply, not even as she sees the cold realization settle into her sister’s wide eyes, and Menalippe throws down her sword, buries her face in Hippolyta’s shoulder, and wraps her tightly in her arms. But Hippolyta embraces her in return, because she was unable to hold Antiope so closely before her death, and her grief and pride had kept her from reaching out for Diana as she walked away.

“Priestess.”

Menalippe is trembling, but when Hippolyta gently pushes her away, the shorter woman raises her head and looks her in the eye.

“Queen.”

Hippolyta’s grip on her shoulder tightens.

“Sister.”

_“...sister.”_

And then she is gone, turning away, nodding at John Constantine. He cracks his knuckles as he strides forward, then raises his hands, shouting a spell in some strange demonic language. The air before them begins to swirl, opening into the blazing portal between life and death.

“After me, ma’am.”

Hippolyta takes a deep breath, then raises her head and follows as John strolls towards the blinding light. The league stares in awe as he and Hippolyta step in together, barely shadows as they walk further and further away on thin air. And just before the swirling vortex snaps shut, the Queen of the Amazons raises her sword and whispers a silent prayer to the gods.

And then she closes her eyes and plunges the blade through her own heart.


	8. Action Reaction Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippolyta and Constantine arrive in the Underworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Angst.
> 
> The last angsty chapter for a while (I hope)!

_Diana._

_Diana…_

_Diana!_

Warm hands cup her cheeks.

_Diana, wake up._

Soft fur brushes against her face and she tries to move away, but can’t. The voice is angry. She should listen. She should obey.

_Diana, wake UP!_

 

* * *

A shadow emerges from the dark. A shadow that quickly turns to gold, gleaming armor, gleaming hair, blazing eyes, blazing steel.

Isabel Maru raises her head, unable to do more than watch as Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons hurls towards them, her expression a mask of hot, burning rage at the sight of her daughter in chains. Her sword is running with fresh blood, and the red drops fly into the cursed air as the blade descends, steel meeting rusted iron. She is screaming–a war cry, a curse against enemies, an appeal to the gods–as the sword slices through the air, through the chains, through the stone. And then Diana is falling, broken and weary, into her mother’s arms.

_“Diana…”_

But Diana is too weak, even to speak. 

 

* * *

“Who did this to her? Who _dared_ enslave her?”

“Demons. We killed them.”

Antiope is there, crouching beside them in the loose shale. John Constantine stands in the background, hands in his pockets. Isabel lies slumped against the stone wall where she has lain for millenia. Hippolyta scoffs at her sister’s words and raises her head, her eyes narrowed as she glares out over the silent valleys.

“Demons can be killed again.”

And Isabel knows that they will be, again, and again, and again, and again.

“We should be off.”

His voice is so soft, so different than his harsh, sarcastic tones, Isabel almost doesn’t recognize it.

_Mother…_

_“Diana…”_

 

* * *

It is a struggle even for her to open her eyes.

Her mother’s face is a blur.

But her voice is true.

A child raised in paradise has nothing to fear, but terrors lurked in her history, in her dreams, and so she would cry out in the night, and her mother would appear and cradle her in her safe, warm arms until the shadows retreated once more.

_Mother…_

The arms beneath her are strong and steady as they lift her up, away from the cursed mountain, away from the cursed ground.

_Isabel..._

_I am here, Princesa._

The lasso of Hestia slithers away from her waist, and she watches as a small, bony hand reaches out and grasps at the glowing coils.

Diana feels herself floating in mid-air, no longer heavy in her mother’s arms, and then another hand, cold and unfamiliar, reaches out to take her wrist.

_No…_

Hippolyta looks away.

_No, what- what is happening? Mother, what… did you...?_

“You chose them. You chose mankind, all those years ago. To protect them, and to love them.”

_No… Oh, no, no…_

“Your place is with them.”

_No… no, my place is with you, my place is at your side, with my sisters, with my people-_

“Bear her to safety, John Constantine.”

“Mother, _please…”_ Her voice is dry and cracked, barely a whisper. But Hippolyta’s eyes fill with tears at the sound, and she reaches out to take her hands.

_You have been my greatest love… do you remember? Do you remember the day you left me? Do you remember how I mourned you, even as you stood before me?_

Diana’s eyes are wide as Hippolyta bends and presses a fierce, hard kiss to her daughter’s forehead. The Queen closes her eyes, but even she cannot hide her tears as Diana struggles against the man’s grip, struggling to come to her.

“You always make me proud, Diana.”

“Mother, no! Please, please, _please, no-”_

“Princess.”

Diana stops fighting, her eyes wide with shock, with terror as she stares at her, arms still outstretched, hands still gripping hers like she’ll never let go

“Queen… _my Queen.”_

Hippolyta looks away as her fingers, still red and sticky with her own blood, slide away from the grip of her child, her precious, precious child.

“Daughter.”

And then she turns her back, and Diana weeps as she is pulled further and further away, as the world of death begins to blur, as the sight of her Queen is eclipsed by magic, by the bridge between worlds.

_“Mother...”_

The last thing she sees is Hippolyta ascending to the mountain’s edge… the Amazons have taken up the war cry at the sight of their Queen, their Deliverer, come to lead them to freedom once more… and they scream in victory as she thrusts her sword up toward the gray sky, and lightning flashes up and down the stained blade.

 

* * *

_Something’s wrong._

_John Constantine pauses, looking out into the thick fog that is limbo. The body of the princess is slumped in his arms, and the cold hand of the chemist is gripping his elbow_ _like a vice._

_Shrouds, everywhere. Shrouds, in limbo._

_That’s not right. They shouldn’t be here. They’re never here._

_Something’s wrong._

_Zee… Zee, come here._

_She’s listening, resisting._

_“Zatanna! Please, come here! Now!”_

_Lingering in limbo is dangerous enough. Lingering with two extra souls…_

_“What happened, what is it?”_

_He can feel her presence before she appears. She smells like magic, pure magic, not like any of this dirty, gritty stuff he wades through on the daily…_

_“Take them.”_

_She’s there, and she’s taking the princess into her arms, and Dr. Maru’s head lolls against her shoulder-_

_“Dammit, John, you couldn’t have just done a spell-”_

_“There’s no time for that, get them back home. Do it, now.”_

_“I-”_

_“NOW!”_

 

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth smiles.

It’s his first real smile in twenty hours.

“Master Wayne?”

Static crackles in his ear, then Bruce’s voice, panting, panicked. Shouting and sirens screaming in the background.

“Alfred, what is it?”

The old butler turns away. A shadow moves across the wall. Whispers. The rustle of bedsheets. They’re crying. As they should be. As he is, too.

“...Alfred?”

“It’s Diana, sir… she’s awake.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Credit to Greg Rucka because I lifted a few lines of dialogue directly from his run, and I love how he wrote Diana and Hippolyta’s relationship. (Why did the DCEU make Diana and Hippolyta’s relationship so hostile? It's much more heartbreaking when they're close!)
> 
> Now that Diana’s back, the next chapter will be dedicated to the impending attack from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and we’ll also find out what happens when you tell a former supervillain (who just happens to be a brilliant scientist, and who also has a _terrible_ history with crimes against humanity) about something called the Anti-Life Equation...


	9. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana's not the only one who learns some new things upon her awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap (because it's been 1.5 months since the last update!):  
> 
> 
> 1) Diana and Isabel just returned from Hades. John Constantine ducked out in limbo while transporting them back from the spirit realm, leaving Zatanna to return them to the living world.  
> 2) Hippolyta died to send Diana back from Hades, and is now leading the souls in rebellion against the demons in the underworld.  
> 3) The rest of the JL is out fighting an onslaught of parademons.  
> 4) Menalippe left to prepare the Amazons for war.

* * *

 

_They’re angry. Hissing and swarming, robbed of their prey yet again._

_Well, good riddance to them._

_John Constantine surges forward with a shout, power blazing from his outstretched hands, because sometimes it just feels good to let off a blast of magic. The shrouds screech and scatter, leaving the Queen’s body where it hovers in midair. A tangible body dead in limbo, while its soul leads the rebellion in the Underworld?_

_A treat, indeed._

_“Come along, little lady.”_

_Constantine reaches out and pulls the limp body into his arms. Her sword is gone, carried by her ghostly hands into the Underworld. And try as they may, the shrouds were unable to disturb the steady stream of Amazon blood rising into the heavy air._

_How strong are you, magician?_

_He had laughed in her face when she said those words. Perhaps one day he would live to regret it._

_“Let’s get you home.”_

 

* * *

 

Diana refuses to let Isabel go. And for a long moment, Isabel is content to sit in the warrior’s lap, cheek to shoulder, nose to nose. But at some point, Isabel shifts, her eyes closed, and mumbles against warm skin,

“Diana… Diana, the world is ending.”

And the goddess sighs, picks up her petite wife, and carries her into the main room of the Batcave, where Alfred is waiting with a tray of food, and surveillance footage is flashing across five different screens. Martha Kent sits beside him, wringing her hands as she watches the shaky video feed of a red-caped figure dashing to and fro, but she still tries to smile as the couple approaches. Somewhere above ground, a loud siren wails.

“Dr. Prince,” Alfred says respectfully, rising and bowing like a proper Englishman. Diana sits, Isabel still in her lap, and raises her head.

_“Please.”_

The word is barely a whisper, an acknowledgement. Alfred’s eyes soften as he stares down at her. Her face is drawn, tired. Seventeen hours have passed on Earth since her death. But for her, it has been three millennia since Steppenwolf’s ax clove her body in two. Centuries of training in Elysium with Antiope and her sisters. Centuries of battle with demons. Centuries of torment upon a mountaintop.

Isabel’s fingertips tangle with her hair, and Diana startles from her muddle of dark memories. The chemist is staring at her with those wide eyes that haunted her dreams… _your worst fear, daughter of the Amazons,_ the demons had jeered, plowing her with images of Hippolyta and Antiope brought down in slavery, of raw human depravity, of the world ablaze, the oceans boiling, the stars falling from the sky–and Isabel standing beside her, watching it all, a faint smile on her lips. _Do you like my work, Princesa? I did it for you._

_“Diana.”_

“Eat something, honey.”

A hand pats her shoulder, and a glass of orange juice hovers in midair in front of her face. Diana takes it and drinks, wincing at the sweet, acidic taste, then sets the cup aside and pulls her wife close once more.

In another moment, she’ll ask Alfred what’s happened since.... since. And then she’ll pick up her sword once more, don the tiara of Antiope that her Queen had pressed into her hands when she left for the world of Man, and go to fight alongside them once again… in another moment, she will raise her head, loosen her arms from around her wife’s living, trembling body, and kiss her goodbye once more, because there is a reason that they are alive, and that reason sends them from each other’s sides more often than not…

A door bursts open and Isabel jumps as the siren from outside pierces the tense air, then there is the sound of metal clanking against the concrete floor.

“How is she?”

Diana pulls Isabel closer, so close she can barely breathe, and then the goddess releases her with a sigh, setting her onto her feet.

“I’m fine, Victor.”

The Cyborg gives a tight grin of relief, then it is quickly erased as he looks away.

“We owe you one, Diana,” he says quietly.

“What’s-”

_“Diana.”_

Batman’s growling, amplified voice echoes across the room as he sweeps down, his wings folding together against his back. “Are you all right? I can’t believe-”

“What is that _infernal_ sound?” Isabel interrupts. _We can discuss your thoughts later, human. Or not._

Bruce pulls up short, his eyes flashing with anger, and he rips the cowl from his face.

“Look, Dr. _Poison-”_ he begins to snarl in his normal voice.

“She means the _sirens,”_ Alfred snaps. Bruce freezes, but his butler continues, sparing his master an embarrassed retort. “It’s the gravitational waves. They’ve been picking up ever since Steppenwolf arrived, and they’ve reached the point where they’re nearly audible to the human ear. The oceans are swarming–Arthur’s doing what he can–and other animals are already… at any rate, the sirens, the same ones that the parademons hated so much, seem to diminish the effect.”

“Effect of what?”

“The…” Alfred begins, but his voice trails off as he glances towards Bruce.

“Go on.”

“Your mother- the Queen-” Bruce begins.

“Is dead, we _know_ that,” Isabel says hastily, her eyes darting over Diana’s tear-streaked face.

“She left you a note,” Alfred interjects wearily. Isabel snatches the paper from the butler’s outstretched hand and begins to read, her eyes moving rapidly as she digests its contents.

“She was here? The Queen was _here?”_ Diana says, slowly looking up at Bruce’s stony face.

“Yes, she, uh-”

“Marched in, broke a handful of Bruce’s ribs and threatened to kill Clark. We’ll tell you the whole thing someday,” Victor interrupts. “Listen, we have to-”

“Where is this parademon?” Isabel cut in, crumpling the paper in her hand. Her eyes are glittering, and Diana’s fairly certain it’s not from grief at her mother-in-law’s death.

“A _parademon?”_

“She captured a parademon,” Bruce continues, ignoring Isabel. “And it told us that Darkseid has a weapon, some sort of mind control, that he plans to use on all life on earth, some kind of mathematical formula.”

“The Anti-Life Equation, she called it,” Victor says, stepping forward. “On the surface, it’s a combination of fairly harmless words, but its science is far more complicated. The human brain, and all sentient life is connected through this network-”

“I _know_ what it is,” Isabel snaps, waving an impatient hand. “Now _where is it?”_

“Follow me, he’s in the freezer,” Alfred says without question, pushing himself up out of his chair. Bruce mutters something too quiet for the retired spy to hear, but he doesn’t miss the flicker of suspicion in the younger man’s eyes.

“Diana.”

The goddess raises her head. Isabel is staring at her and holding out her hand, walking backwards as she follows Alfred to one of the tunnels leading out of the Batcave. Diana unloops the lasso from her side and tosses it across the room into her wife’s outstretched hand. The chemist blows her a kiss, then disappears into the shadows of the yawning tunnel. The corner of Diana’s lip lifts, betraying the slightest of smiles, then it drops once more as she turns to look into Bruce Wayne’s scowling, unmasked face.

“Your _wife_ appears to be quite comfortable giving orders in this house-”

“How does she already know about the Equation?” Victor asks in a low voice, interrupting Bruce’s bitter observation.

“She… worked it out,” Diana says, but she’s stepped forward, distracted by the scenes on the screens. A fresh wave of parademons have just arrived and it’s all the earth-dwellers can do to hold their ground. But they stand anyway: Soldiers. Civilians. Amazons. Atlanteans. Humans. Fighting alongside each other once more...

“Guys, we could _really_ use you out th– oh, hi, Diana. Um.”

The Flash pauses, slowing down enough to catch of glimpse of the angry tension on Bruce’s face.

“She worked it out,” Bruce repeats, ignoring the interruption.

“Yes… after her wife died.”

The room falls uncomfortably silent.

“So, just now? In this past day? Right after Steppenwolf died?” Bruce says in a hard voice. Diana finally tears her eyes away from the screens and glares at him, knowing exactly what he’s implying.

“No. After her first wife, years ago, before the war.”

Bruce stares. Diana stares back.

“Look, you two, can you just, just put this aside for now-” Victor begins.

“Well, then why hasn’t she _used_ it?” Bruce says, his voice tight with suppressed outrage. “That’s what she wants, isn’t it? To destroy the world?”

“You don’t-”

“Hundreds of thousands _dead,_ Diana. Forgive me if it’s a little hard for me to believe that this woman isn’t simply taking advantage of the protection of a super-powered goddess while she’s squirreling away in secret, planning her little schemes-”

 _“Enough.”_ Diana strides forward, and for a moment, Bruce think she’s about to punch him again. Or maybe break his newly-healed ribs. But she only reaches out and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Enough, Bruce.”

Her voice is steely, but strained, and tired. Bruce closes his eyes, and a breathless moment passes.

_Not now. I know you're worried, but please, not now._

He gives a tight nod of defeat, turns away, and snatches up the bottle of whiskey from the table to pour himself a glass.

“Where’s my coat?”

Everyone jumps. Isabel has strolled back into the room, and Alfred is following, pushing an unconscious parademon on a rolling stretcher. No one speaks. But the Flash glances around, then disappears and reappears with Isabel’s coat in his hand.

“Ma’am, er, Doctor– Doctor Wonder.”

Isabel spares him an incredulous look before snatching her coat away from him.

“What are you doing, Isabel?” Diana sighs as she glances over her shoulder at Isabel rummaging through her coat pockets.

“Multitasking, since no one else around here seems capable of getting anything done.”

Alfred barks out a laugh, then quickly turns away at the sight of Bruce’s disheveled glare.

“We should really get back out there-” Barry begins, but Victor gives a slight shake of his head.

“Wait until-”

“You, Silas’ boy- come here a moment.”

Victor’s eyes widen in surprise at his father’s name, but he strolls forward and listens as Isabel whispers into his ear. Diana raises her head and starts forward.

“Isabel, wait, we don’t know-”

“Your mother left instructions, Diana. Don’t interfere.”

Diana hisses, but bites back her protests and deliberately turns her back to look once more at the computer screens.

“She seems very capable.”

Diana glances down to where Martha Kent has been sitting and silently watching this entire exchange. Her voice is soft, tentative, but the hand patting hers is firm.

“Oh, yes. _Too_ capable.”

“Your mother-”

“Oh, _shit.”_ Barry’s mouth has fallen open, and his arm is raised to point at the parademon. Diana’s hand tightens on her sword and she takes a deep breath as she turns to look. The parademon is thrashing, morphing, shape-shifting, moaning. Isabel is pushing the stopper back onto an empty vial, her eyes bright with almost smug satisfaction. Victor is kneeling beside it, his metal hands gripping its armored shoulders, the red stone over his heart shining bright, blinding red.

Bruce starts forward with a shout, hand reaching into his pockets for a weapon, but Alfred jumps forward.

“Wait, Master Wayne-”

The parademon continues to grow and change, its skin becoming smoother, lighter, as it struggles against the lasso and Victor’s grasp.

“Tell him to stay still!” Isabel shouts, looping the lasso around her palm and pulling it tight. She mutters a command in Ancient Greek and the rope flares in response. The parademon shouts, its voice low and deep, far lower and deeper than a parademon’s high, screeching tone. Victor leans forward and whispers in its ear, and it goes still, calm at last.

“What _is_ tha-”

 _“Shh!”_ Isabel hisses, waving an absent hand, not even caring who the interruption is. The figure is panting, lying flat on the trembling stretcher. “Can you speak?”

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you,” a new voice says. The figure pushes aside the strands of lasso and sits up. The golden rope flies across the room, coiling neatly against Diana’s side in an instant. “And my thanks to your mother, Princess Diana, for sparing my life.”

“Who _are_ you?”

“I am the last living survivor of Mars. My name is J’onn J-”

“Never mind that, we’re in a hurry,” Isabel says briskly, although Diana notices that she takes the time to seize the green creature’s hand and help him onto his feet. “Tell this one what you know about what technology can be used to battle Darkseid. Wayne, is your landline untraceable?”

Bruce opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, so he nods once and Isabel seizes the receiver from the cradle and begins to dial. Cyborg and Barry lean over the computers, where the Martian has begun to give rapid instructions to Alfred while pointing to a map on-screen.

“Just like that?”

Diana turns, and Bruce is standing behind her.

“Your wife can turn parademons back to their old selves, just like that.”

“She is very intelligent.”

Bruce shakes his head, hefting the cowl in his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no time for-”

“No, I mean it. I’ll probably never trust that woman, but I trust you… and that should be enough.”

“You might…” But Diana’s voice trails off as Isabel begins to laugh. The chemist catches a glimpse of Diana’s stoney face and turns her back, the phone still propped against the side of her head as she begins to type into one of the computers.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Diana says, but she’s still scowling. “It’s… necessary. He’s the one controlling the science, the gravity, of course it’s necessary.”

“What?” Bruce repeats, but Isabel has already made her way back to the group.

“I’m going to pay him a visit. You should be going too, _Princesa.”_

“Are you sure it’s safe? For you?”

“Of course. Luthor knows better than to try anything.”

Bruce had already started to turn away and count heads, but he freezes at that name.

“Luthor? Lex Luthor? The one I put into prison?!”

Isabel looks at him strangely. “Lex? The son? Of course not, he’s an idiot.”

And with that Isabel turns to her wife, presses a good, hard kiss onto her lips, slips the lasso from the hook against her side, _Don’t mind if I borrow this,_ she whispers against her lips, then turns and makes her way across the room towards the stairs.

“Alexander Luthor is dead-”

“Bruce, Diana, you coming?” Barry calls. He and Victor and the green newcomer are making their way towards the elevators.

“No, he’s alive,” Diana says over her shoulder. “He and Isabel are old friends. He stopped by for dinner just last month.”

And then she’s gone. Apparently she and Barry silently decided that they were racing towards the battle. Cyborg and J’onn are flying up through the narrow fire escape, bypassing the elevator altogether.

“Alfred…” Bruce begins, feeling suddenly overwhelmed in the abrupt silence that falls over the Batcave.

“Get out there. There'll time later to investigate it all.”

“Alexander Luthor- and Diana knew-”

“I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t believe-”

“Go, Master Wayne. You can believe it tomorrow… if there _is_ a tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

_He is there, in the throne that once restrained a tormented Cronos, chains stretching his arms and legs wide, and his childish chin slack with fatigue. The crown of candles set into the top of his head are cold; the wax running down over his hair and face is set and crumbling._

_“Hades...”_

_He does not raise his burdened head, but the small, immortal fingers twitch._

_“Amazon...”_

_The sword–now a legend in the Underworld–slices downward, and the God of Death falls forward._

_Onto his knees._

_“Once, I would have scorned the day Zeus’ failed experiments stepped forward in place of the Old Gods.”_

_“I do not seek your place, heartless one,” the Queen replies, but her cool voice verges on fondness as she helps him to his feet. A wisp of smoke begins to rise from the dead candles, and the pouting mouth twists into a humorless grimace._

_“Nonetheless, Hippolyta… As the daughter has so reluctantly claimed the title of War, so the mother shall claim the powers of Death.”_

_The hand that reaches out to brush against her cheek is cold. Teasing. Invasive._

_“Look, child.”_

_She turns, and she looks._

_“They are yours. It is you that freed them. It is to you that they will answer. It is you that they will serve.”_

_She looks, and looks, and looks over the waves upon waves of souls. Antiope grins up at her from the front of the crowd, where she is surrounded by her warriors, their sisters. And there are others, thousands, millions… and she knows what she must do…_

_Hope is folly._

_Love is lies._

_Life is death._

_But if life is death, then death must also be life._

_“Follow me, children.”_

_She raises the stained sword to the gray sky, and the Underworld erupts in screams and cheers, and Hades’ mouth twists into a grin as souls flood past him, following their Queen, following their new Goddess of Death._

_“To War.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I'm not.... super happy with this chapter because it is just so _busy,_ but I've been sitting on it for a month and a half and I don't see it getting any more readable, so... 
> 
> Also, my goal is to have this fic done by the one year anniversary of WW's release date!!
> 
> (Also, I LOVE Hades/Hell's New 52 design).


	10. Parademons Attack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team scrambles to meet the surge of parademon attacks, plus a few surprises.

“Dr. Isabel Maru to see you, sir.”

Isabel shrugs off her coat and lays it over her arm, ignoring the uniformed doorman’s outstretched hand. The seated figure behind the oaken desk nods once without turning to look towards them, and the doorman bows and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him. The heavy deadbolt clicks forward, and Isabel sighs.

“Well?”

“I’ve searched for other universes, you know. Other worlds. Perhaps I made a mistake, choosing to stay on this one.”

_That... is a conversation for another time. It’s a conversation for a long night beside the fireplace. It’s a conversation for the aftermath, as we stand beside charred piles of lifeless bodies... It’s a conversation for later, Alexander._

“He’ll control you, too,” Isabel says, moving forward. “Is that what you want?”

“He showed me his world.”

“Apokolips?”

“Fear breeds recklessness. And recklessness is destructive. Their world is dying, but their technology and understanding of the universe is _light years_ ahead of Earth. Perhaps on a planet with plenty, where the population is curbed, controlled, productive, they can begin to develop, cultivate-”

“A wise man once said that _fear breeds recklessness,”_ Isabel interrupts, abruptly pulling his chair around so that she can look him in the face. “You’re afraid of them, Alexander. And so am I. But you don’t see _me_ running to them and offering my assistance.”

Lex Luthor smirks, crossing his arms.

“So you’re here to convince me to stop? I thought we knew each other, Isabel.”

The chemist snorts and spins his chair back around towards the enormous desk. But her hand stays on the plush, leather back. And for a long moment, neither of them speak.

“They could be great, you know.” Luthor’s voice is cold, tired. “They could achieve so much more, if only they put aside their squabbles, mastered their impulses, understood the impact of their own actions-”

“I’m not _here_ to dissuade you. And I’m _certainly_ not here for a philosophy lesson-”

“It will go on, Dr. Maru,” Lex Luthor continues, unfazed. “You can believe what you will. But it _will_ go on.”

“Fine,” Isabel says, tossing her coat onto the spotless desk and crossing her arms.  “But give them a chance. Give them a fighting chance.”

Luthor slowly spins around to look up at her, and his face is unsmiling.

“It won’t help.”

“The league can take him. They can take all of them, together. But they can’t fight science.”

“Science is what keeps this world spinning, Isabel. Shouldn’t they bow down to its power, just once?”

“You’re starting to sound like your idiot son-”

“He is not here to kill or destroy the planet or its inhabitants. He’s here to control. To introduce some order amongst the chaos-”

“To enforce _slavery._ I will not allow _any_ being, god or monster, to dictate my life for me. _”_

“Oh?” Luthor raises his head to stare down at her, an eyebrow raised. “What about _goddesses?”_

Isabel kicks his chair and he goes sliding across his spotless, hardwood floor. He jumps smoothly to his feet before the chair hits the wall, and strolls towards her, hands pushed casually into his pockets.

“Well? Use it.”

Luthor’s voice is nonchalant, but his eyes glimmer with poorly concealed interest as Isabel raises her hand, and the lasso flies across the room into her palm.

“Give me your hand.”

“Severed?” Luthor asks in a bored voice. “Attached? In marriage?”

Isabel hisses in irritation and seizes the billionaire scientist’s arm, wrapping his wrist once with the glowing cord.

“Are you playing with me?” she asks tightly.

“Yes.”

“Have you already contacted the others?’

“Yes.”

“Thank _God.”_

The lasso falls from his arm and coils neatly around Isabel’s hand once more, and she turns and marches away.

“I’m going to salvage what’s left of my lab,” she says over her shoulder as she stuffs the lasso back into her coat. “Give my regrets to the Society.”

“Take Slade with you,” Luthor calls, his back to her as he stares out the window at the burning high rises of Metropolis. The sky has already taken on the rusty tint of smoke.

“I can’t,” Isabel says primly, pulling on the coat and buttoning it up. “My wife wouldn't approve.”

“Take the demon, then. It’s not safe out there, walking. Or flying. Even while invisible.” His eyes are watching her reflection in the glass as she freezes and turns around.

“Jason? Why is he here?”

“Vander brought him along.”

“Not _Vander,_ he’s an idiot.”

Luthor opens his mouth and lets out a loud, hearty laugh, turning around to look at her at last.

“How has no one killed you by now?”

“Sheer, unbridled talent,” Isabel says brittlely, shoving her hands into her coat pockets and making a beeline for the door. “Listen, if that man utters so much as one rhyme...”

“I’ll have him meet you on the roof. And Isabel… say hello to your talented _wife_ for me while you’re in Paris.”

“Of course. And perhaps I will _also_ stop by National City along the way and say hello to your _daughter,”_ Isabel snaps, pushing open the door so hard, it almost sends the doorman flying headfirst into the hallway. Luthor laughs again and turns back to the burning city as the door slams.

_“...touché.”_

 

* * *

 

“Aw _shit,_ what a mess- wait, there they are!”

Somewhere between, “Hi, I’m Barry” and “J’onn J’onzz” and the two speedsters landing in the wreckage of a burning town in the middle of the northern Plains, Victor Stone disappears.

“He was just here a second ago!” Barry shouts, but the Martian glances behind them and shakes his head.

“He knows where he’s needed.”

And then there's a blast of magic on the horizon, and in an instant, they’re standing beside Zatanna Zatara in the middle of a smoldering church.

“-clear but check the basement–AHHG!”

Barry ducks down as a blast of magic flies towards them. J’onn stays put, apparently unaffected as it crackles right through his core. Barry throws his hands up over his head.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! We’re just here to-”

“You!” Zatanna lowers her hands, still crackling with energy, as she catches a clear glimpse of The Flash for the first time. “Aren't you supposed to be with Bruce and the others?”

“Yeah, there was a change of plans. Parademons everywhere… every man for himself. No one really knows what’s going on.”

Zatanna opens her mouth to reply, but there's an explosion in a distance, and she swears instead.

“Shit, Napi went ahead-”

But then a shadowy figure bursts through the door, and the group jumps out of the way. It's the demigod himself, sitting atop an enormous horse, fire still licking up and down his arms.

“Another tube is forming! We’ll have to re-group and...”

He pauses, noticing the newcomers for the first time, and abruptly reins in the horse.

“Who are you?”

“I'm Barry, we, uh, didn’t really get a chance to meet earlier. And this is J’onn, from Mars.”

Napi casts a sharp glance over them both, then says,

“Diana?”

“She was _also_ with us a second ago-”

“Paris, France,” J’onn says, his eyes flashing red as he reads the goddess’ mind over the distance. “The parademons have secured the city, and the Amazons are approaching over the sea... I would be able to see more if the gravitational waves weren't sending vibrations through my vision-”

“Right? It would be _so_ much easier to concentrate if there wasn't this damn ringing in my ears-”

But a strange, familiar whirring sound fills the air, and Barry stops abruptly.

“That’s… that’s another-”

“Try to stay off the ground, it won’t affect you as much.”

And then Napi’s spurring his horse forward and into the road, his fist raised to send an explosion into the sky, a warning, and in a distance are the sounds of war cries, horses. In another moment, they’re here, thundering down the rubble-strewn street, dozens upon dozens of warriors on horseback, decorated for war, weapons in hand.

Zatanna pushes her way out of the smoky building, sprinting over the clipped lawn and parking lot outside of the church, and then she leaps into the air, flying over them all, shouting something as she stretches out her hand. Another figure joins her in the sky, and then another and another, and together, they raise their hands and spread a magicked net around the throbbing beams of the boom tube. The parademons trying to disentangle themselves scream as they come in contact with the net’s flaming edges. Those lucky enough to be closer to the center of the tube are no more lucky: their tough armor is easily penetrated with flaming arrows, spears, and bullets as Napi stations his warriors in a circle around the tube.

“This is so _cool-”_

“Here comes another one, let’s go!”

And then the Martian is gone, and Flash is speeding across the continent, and cold air is slapping him in the face, and he's watching as J’onn materializes as if in slow motion over a moonlit patch of white ice, and he sees the boom tube opening over some enormous metal ship-

“J’onn! That’s the Kryptonian ship! This is a job for-”

And the next thing he knows, he’s looking at the backside of a red cape, and Superman’s burning rays of heat vision are already scanning up and down the shimmering tube of light. J’onn falls back as fire hotter than the core of the sun blazes over the length of the boom tube, but Barry speeds through unharmed, and begins punching the parademons one by one back into the dark pool of nothingness at the opposite end of the tube.

“You! You! You! And you! And you! Oh, you want to meet Superman! Okay, fine then!”

The parademon shrieks as he kicks it down into the line of heat vision. It disintegrates completely in less than a second. Barry swallows hard, but shakes himself and starts shouting the lyrics to the first song that pops into his head, trying to keep himself from vomiting as bits of burned parademons rain down around him.

“Barry! Get out of there!”

_“GEUMAN SAENGGAKHAE MWOGA GEURI EORYEOWO_ \- ahhhhhg!”

Something grabs the back of his neck, and pitches him forward… _further_ up into the tube. Someone shouts, but parademons are everywhere, screeching, chattering, pulling, and someone’s calling his name, and all at once, it feels different, the air feels damp and hard, and if he thought the Arctic was cold and dark, it was _nothing_ compared to this-

_“Barry, hold on!”_

Something grabs his kicking legs, and something else grabs his frantically waving arms, and then everything is quiet. He can't see, he’s been blindfolded, he's been blinded, it was Superman’s heat vision, he shouldn't have looked directly into it, now he'll be blind for life, not that he was going to live that long anyways, but now he’s not going to be able to see where he’s running, or what he’s eating-

“Huh. Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Someone yanks the tangle of red cape away from his face, and Barry blinks. And blinks. And blinks. But no matter how many times he blinks, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s looking at a bizarre, completely unexpected vision of an old, white-haired woman dressed in dark, bulky armor.

 

* * *

 

_“I've lost sight of Superman, Master Wayne.”_

_“What?!”_

_“I’ve lost him, he seems to have entered the boom tube and disappeared…”_

_“What?! No! No, NO!”_

 

* * *

 

Martha Kent is shaking. And she's not the only one. The water in the ornate glass pitcher is also unsteady, not quite sloshing against the sides, but restless as the increasing gravitational waves pulse through the floor, through the earth. Alfred Pennyworth glances at her as she grips the golden chain around her neck and shakes her head back and forth, her eyes closed. But he can do nothing, so he simply steels himself and focuses on Bruce’s machinery. If nothing else, he can keep Bruce Wayne alive, like he always has, all these years, and maybe if he succeeds, then mankind also has a chance at survival.

But Gotham City is overrun. The world is overrun. And more just keep coming.

_What does he want, Alfred?_ Bruce had asked once, his voice tired and angry as he drove through yet another street littered with hostages.

_You heard the Queen, Master Wayne. He wants control._ Alfred had replied, wishing that for once in his life he could deliver some good news in this grim voice of his.

_“I’m going after him, Alfred.”_

“Of course you are, Master Wayne.”

_“Hey, Bats, what’s the plan?”_

_“They took Superman.”_

“And Barry,” Alfred supplies, his eyes never leaving the screens as Bruce roars through the streets, shooting every parademon on sight.

_“They took Barry, too.”_

Someone swears.

_“What’re we doing here, then? Let’s go.”_

_“You’re not going, Hal.”_

_“Yeah, you don’t get to tell me what to do. See you later, Bats.”_

“Master Wayne…” Alfred says under his breath. Batman growls, then the engine revs as he chases down the flying Green Lantern.

_“Hal, wait!”_

“You planning on staying here, Freddy?”

Alfred jerks. Apparently alarms and a multi-million dollar security system means nothing anymore in this world of gods and monsters…

“Ah. Master Constantine. Yes, the premises are secure-”

“Not from _that,”_ John snorts, filling a plate with the leftover breakfast with one hand and pointing at one of the TV screens with the other.

_“Our readers have picked up RECORD level gravitational waves, really, this is truly unexplainable…”_

John reaches out and shakes Martha’s shoulders. She mumbles something about buzzing in her ears… something about loneliness and aliens…

“She’s nearly gone, mate. She needs to come with me unless you want a parademon on the loose in your little cave-”

“Clark’s mother stays with me.”

“Loyal little bugger, aren’t you? They really don't pay you enough,” John grins, taking a deep, juicy bite out of a slice of melon, then he tosses the rind onto the tablecloth. “Hang onto something, Freddy.”

And Alfred Pennyworth lets out a shout, but John Constantine raises his hands, and the Batcave is _engulfed_ by the House of Mystery, and everything: the machinery, the suits of armor, the gleaming stone walls- even the cold leftovers from breakfast- are suddenly transported into limbo, a place that is both light years, and a nanosecond away from Earth.

And it is quiet.

The buzzing, humming, vibrations, gravitational waves- it's all gone.

It’s quiet.

_“Alfred! Alfred! Dammit, are you there?! Alfred!”_

“Master… Wayne...”

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

Martha Kent raises her head, her hand still clutching the cross necklace her mother had given to her a lifetime ago, as she waited for the final guests to arrive, as her sister played the prelude on the church’s newly tuned piano, as Jonathan waited in his new suit beside the altar, waiting for her to come down the aisle…

“Orchid, this is the woman. Take her to the parlor.”

It’s not quiet anymore.

Martha glances away from the strange, purple face in hers just in time to see Constantine’s jacket hem sweeping across the floor towards the door.

“I’m… I’m here, Bruce... can you hear me.”

Alfred sounds groggy. Hurt. She should go to him, see if he’s all right.

“Come with me, Mrs. Kent.”

And then she's standing, as if in a dream, and following the purple figure across the velvety, dark red floor, and there’s a fire crackling, and the room is warm and cozy, nothing like the cold sterile stone and metal of the Batcave, and then a graceful purple arm rises and points across the room.

“There.”

“She needs a woman’s touch, and Orchid’s not quite up to it.”

“She is a Queen, Boston, and she is dead. I am only able to fulfill the requests of the living-”

_“I’m_ dead.”

But Martha barely hears the ghostly whispering as she moves towards the lifeless, blood-splattered body laid out over the low table.

When they brought Clark to her, he was already in his best suit, hair-styled, eyes closed, face peaceful. But she had pressed a trembling hand against his heart, and there had been nothing but a gaping hole.

They’d never found Jonathan's body.

And now Clark is missing.

Again.

And this woman, this woman who’d barely said a few dozen words to her, this woman who she hadn’t known existed a day ago… now she is yet another one of the dead.

_Hippolyta._

Someone had said that name–Bruce–she thinks it was, and she had to ask him to repeat it. _I’ve never heard of a name like that,_ she had said. He’d said something about Shakespeare, and she’d thought about how she took Clark to Shakespeare in the Park every summer, and how he always got upset when characters died on stage.

_You’re in your own tragedy now, honey. We all are._

“Here you are, Mrs. Kent.”

The purple creature has appeared at her side with a basin of warm water and a stack of towels. Martha murmurs a distracted thank you, and stares down at the peaceful face.

“Do… do you think they’ll bring her back? Like the others?”

“Naw… from what I’ve heard, she’s accepted her role in the Underworld,” the pale, red-suited figure says as he hovers overhead. “She did a trade for her daughter, and it’s better not to mess with those types of rules.”

Martha sighs and reaches out to brush her fingers against a blood-streaked lock of golden hair.

_Do not serve me again._

“Mrs. Kent?”

But Martha only shakes her head, offering a tight smile to the ghosts behind her, then picks up one of the towels.

_I’m sorry, Your Majesty… just once more._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This story is turning out to be a bit longer than I anticipated (we're looking at maybe four more chapters and an epilogue) so now I'm planning on having it wrapped up by the end of June so I can focus on Permission to Dream for the rest of the summer... Anyways, I hope you're enjoying this buildup to Darkseid because I'm having a blast writing it!!
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :)


	11. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Equation begins.

The coast has already disappeared on the horizon when Isabel suddenly pulls the invisible plane around, speeding back towards the dusty mountains and stretches of dry desert. The city glitters like a mirage in the middle of the wasteland, and then they are upon it, swooping over clogged freeways, hot concrete, spindly palm trees.

“I assume there is a plan?” Jason Blood drawls as they roar past multiple high-rises before landing with a jerk on the roof of some unfamiliar building.

“There is always a plan,” Isabel replies shortly, jumping from the cockpit. Jason shakes his head, but follows as she swipes a keycard through the lock on the fire escape and disappears down the flight of steps.

“Might I ask why you have the key to this _locked_ building?” Jason asks as they step into a small elevator and begin traveling down.

“I stole it from Luthor’s desk. He keeps all sorts of things hidden in the rings of that stupid tree desk-”

But the elevator dings and the doors slide open, and a relieved voice comes around the corner.

“There you are, Kara, I was beginning to wor-” But the speaker stops short when she catches a glimpse of her unwelcome visitors. “Dr. Maru... what a surprise.”

“No time for that,” Isabel says brusquely, but she strolls forward and kisses the confused CEO’s cheeks nonetheless. “I need your fingerprint and a computer.”

Lena Luthor takes a step back, the smile dropping quickly from her face.

“...you’ve been to see my father.”

“Correct.”

“Well. Fine.” The younger woman doesn’t look especially happy, but she waves Isabel into her office and swipes the mouse at the desktop. The screen wakes, and the L-Corp logo projects onto the wall opposite the window.

“You’ll have to be quick,” Lena says, glancing at her watch. “Everyone’s supposed to be out of the city by noon.”

“We saw Kara flying around on our way in,” Isabel says, taking a flash drive from her pocket, seizing Lena’s hand and pressing her thumb against it. “We’re probably going to need her later.”

 _“We?”_ Lena asks pointedly, and for a split-second, her wicked, threatening smile looks exactly like her father’s.

“Everyone. The world,” Isabel says, waving away the suspicion as she plugs the drive into the computer.

Lena shakes her head, smirking. “Do you need me to leave, or am I allowed stay in _my_ office?”

“I don’t know yet,” Isabel mutters, scrolling rapidly through the thousands of files on the drive. A moment of tense silence falls over the room, broken only by sirens, the sound of screams as parademons swoop past the windows, and Jason Blood’s footsteps as he slowly paces outside the door. Isabel grumbles under her breath and reaches into her pocket for her phone.

“What did he do this time?”

“Too much,” Isabel says absently, punching buttons on her phone with one hand and typing with the other. “Excuse me a second, Lena.”

“Of course,” she replies airily, crossing her arms and turning to stare out the windows at the evacuating city.

“Come on, you can fight with one hand…” Isabel mutters as she holds up her phone and the dial tone drags in her ear.

_“Isabel?!”_

“There you are, where are you?”

“I’m at the Louve, we’re trying to-”

“We were just flying over the Pacific, you need to find Arthur and tell him to get the ocean under control.”

“I’m sure he’s already trying-”

“Well, he’s not trying hard enough. Sound travels faster through water.”

“Isabel…”

“The _Amazons_ are coming over the ocean, Diana.”

Diana sighs, and for a moment, they listen to each other over the phone, breathing.

“Fine,” Diana says, and there’s the sound of a parademon dying in the background. “I’ll go find him. But where are you?”

“I’m at L-Corp, I’m trying to work out this information I got from Alexander.”

“Ah, Lena. Should I be worried?”

“You can, but you know I prefer older women.”

“About her _activities,_ Isabel,” Diana says impatiently, but Isabel can hear the exasperated smile in her voice. “You traced that Kryptonite back to her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, she’s fine. She’s very fine.”

“You are the worst.”

“You’ve always known that. Listen, I’m getting nowhere with this flash drive, so I’ll just take it to the lab and meet— oh... _shit.”_

The projection on the wall goes black. Isabel jumps to her feet and shoves her free hand into her pocket, fingers closing tight around the lasso. The speakers mounted onto the wall echo with static, and someone laughs and says something that sounds suspiciously like,

_“Primitive technology.”_

“...bel ...hap…” But Diana’s voice is overtaken by static, and Isabel glances down at her phone to see the same flickering screen. The door flies open, and they both spin around to stare at something moving to fast for them to see.

“Lena! What is going- are you all ri-”

But the voice stops abruptly, and a hand reaches out as if from thin air and seizes Isabel’s collar.

“Who are _you,_ and- why are you carrying so many poisons?!”

“Let her go, Kara, she’s fine-”

But Isabel has yanked the lasso out of her pocket and flung the end out the door.

“Jason!”

The cursed man backs into the room, one hand holding the end of the glowing lasso, the other hand punching a parademon who had trailed Supergirl into the building.

“Shut the door!”

Jason Blood throws the parademon across the room with inhuman strength, then slams the door shut. His face is placid as ever.

“It’s just like when the Kryptonians-”

“Grab ahold,” Isabel interrupts, shaking the lasso at the other two women.

“Isn’t this Wonder Woman’s-”

But then a face appears, twenty times larger than life, projected onto the wall of Lena Luthor’s office.

_“Dark… Darkseid is…”_

“Oh, no…”

Lena's voice is barely a murmur. Isabel strolls quickly across the room, staring out the windows at a sky thick with parademons.

_Diana, hurry..._

“I’ll go.”

“No- Jason, wait!”

“Gone, gone, the form of man, _rise, the demon Etrigan…”_

**_“Loneliness… Alienation...”_ **

Isabel turns around, her heart sinking as she stares up at the shadowed, but damningly-familiar face on the wall. Kara sinks down to the edge of the desk, her free hand over her mouth as she stares up at the flickering image.

_“Kal…”_

 

* * *

 

**_“Fear… Despair…”_ **

 

“Batman? ...Batman?”

_“Quiet.”_

It is quiet. The dying planet is quiet. Completely quiet. Eerily quiet.

“It’s starting. The Corps just said...”

“Alfred, can you hear-”

“Oh my God, _Barry…”_

The Green Lantern is streaking across the room, a trail of green following in his wake.

“Barry, stop. _Stop.”_

He’s running. Running in place, as fast as he can inside a glass box.

“I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. Make it stop. Make it stop, _I can’t stop…”_

“Hang on, gotta get you out of there, gotta get you…”

_“Shazam! Shazam! Shazam!”_

There’s another figure in another box, shouting over and over again. A grown man, then a child, then a grown man, then a child, both crying.

Hal turns around to look at Bruce, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes.

_“Help me...”_

 

* * *

 

**_“Self worth… Mockery…”_ **

 

“Victor… _Victor!”_

“It’s the Equation. They’re here. It’s over.”

“No, keep running the experiment. Keep- stay there!”

“It’s useless, Dad. It’s done. We can’t fight them.”

“Dammit, Victor, listen to me! You need, stay right- no! I didn’t fight to save your life just for… for…”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

**_“Condemnation… Misunderstanding…”_ **

 

“Orin Atlan-son!”

“The king! My King! Something approaches, something is-”

But Arthur Curry is already struggling to protect the city from the thousands of creatures swarming outside of the barriers. Gravitational waves, the robot had said, and then the Queen had brought in a parademon and he knew that his place was with his people. His mother’s people.

“Arthur… it’s over.”

A pale hand reaches out and seizes his, but he grips the trident even tighter.

“It’s not over.”

“It is. Listen...”

“I will not listen. _I will not surrender.”_

 

* * *

 

**_“Guilt… Shame…”_ **

 

“I never thought… I never thought…”

“We did what we could, Zatanna.”

“But we ignored the threats, all these years, stayed in hiding...”

“It’s not over.”

“Isn’t it? You were there, at that meeting. You heard them. You heard what they said the Equation would do… what it is.”

“It’s not true. It can’t be true.”

“Don’t be like that. You’ve seen humanity at its worst, Napi… you know it’s true.”

 

* * *

 

**_“Failure… Judgement…”_ **

 

“Master Wayne… Master Wayne, please answer me, please-”

_“TURN THAT OFF.”_

John Constantine flies into the room, hands raised, and the screens smash, the phones smash, every electronic that transmits sound and image flies into pieces. Alfred ducks down to the floor, covering his head with his arms as glass and metal and plastic rains down from the ceiling. Martha Kent lets out a scream as the magician storms into the parlor, snatches the cell phone from her hands and snaps it in two. She slides down to her knees, crying, blindly reaching out towards him.

“My son… _what have they done with my son?!”_

 

* * *

 

**_“Hope is Folly...”_ **

 

“So this was your plan, was it, Luthor? Get Superman to work for them? For us? For _you?”_

“What is this, Luthor?”

“Whose side are you on, Luthor? Ours? The Society’s? Or theirs?”

“Who are they, anyway? What do they want?”

“Wait… wait and see, my friends...”

 

* * *

 

**_“Life is Death…”_ **

 

“General… the water is restless...”

“We go forward.”

“Menalippe, we cannot…”

“We will be strong, sisters. We will fight as Amazons… we will fight for our Queen. We will fight for the Princess.”

 

* * *

 

**_“Love is Lies…”_ **

 

_Come on, Diana… fight it. Fight it, for the love of the gods that you serve, fight it. You know it’s not true. You know it’s a lie. You know the truth. Listen to the truth, Princesa…_

The parademons screech in anger as Jason Blood hews a path through their ranks with his broad longsword. And then– there is a glint of armor, a surge of power, and Diana is there, dragging Etrigan the Demon along in her wake, and her expression is hard and determined, and Isabel is reaching out towards her with both arms, the lasso looped around her palm…

_How dare they tell us love is a lie, in a world where your love spared my life, and my love brought back yours…?_

And then Diana’s arms are around her, and her face is buried in her neck, and the lasso is wrapped tightly around them both...

_“Isabel.”_

 

* * *

 

**“Self is Darkside… Darkside is Self…”**

 

There is nothing.

Nothing.

 

**“Self is Darkside… Darkside is Self…”**

 

There is nothing else.

He is here.

 

**“Self is Darkseid… Darkseid is Self...”**

 

**"Darkseid is..."**

 

 

 

 

**"Darkseid is."**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so, wow, I didn't realize how many plot lines I had in this fic til I wrote the end of this chapter??? I even skipped two because the equation wasn't long enough to include them!
> 
> But anyways, to the people still hanging out with this fic, thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story and all the characters ~~that keep getting introduced in every chapter oops.~~ You are the best!! (Also, credit to Grant Morrison for how the Anti-Life Equation is distributed, _Final Crisis_ is as amazing as it is confusing!)


	12. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those remaining after the release of the Equation scramble to put together some plans. Hippolyta makes a surprise visit to one of her subjects.

* * *

**LIMBO**

Zatanna opens her eyes. She can hear the sound of Napi’s voice, low and soft, chanting a prayer over the dead. There’s a fire crackling, light flickering across a familiar ceiling, and… _Boston?!_

“Come _on,_ we can’t just sit up here. There’s got to be something we can do, get in contact with the Queen, or the Justice League, they can’t _all-”_

“I’m not risking my neck to save the world, Boston. My magic won’t stand a chance against someone like Darkseid, anyway-”

_“...John?”_

“Zee!” Boston zooms over to her, his ghostly white head grinning like a skull. “Good, you're awake, you can talk some sense into this knucklehead.”

Zatanna turns her head, wincing at the pain shooting directly into her eyes, and stares as John strolls away, back deliberately turned towards her.

“What happened?”

“Orchid found you and Chief. Got in and out in a nick of time. Everyone else down there’s walking around like zombies.”

 _“Niap siht esae,”_ Zatanna mutters, and she scrambles to her feet as the pain abates. “Who else is here? How did you-”

“One question at a _time,_ love,” John Constantine’s voice groans as it comes around the corner. Cold, smooth stone walls tower behind him, but this room where Zatanna awoke is warm, familiar… and then she realizes, one room is the House of Mystery, one room is the Batcave. She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“That is one _hell_ of a spell.”

“Alfred, Mrs. Kent, Napi, Boston, Orchid, and the Queen-who is dead, you, and me. And thank you.” John takes a long drag from his cigarette, flashes a smug smile, and waves a hand at the doorway between the two rooms. “A lot of people owe me for this one.”

_Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman…_

“Maybe even the world, if you get your butt into line.”

“Don’t you start-”

“So what are you gonna do, sit here in limbo for the rest of time? If you don’t help defeat Darkseid, no one’s going to be _around_ to ‘owe you anything!’” Zatanna exclaims.

 _“I_ cannot work against the Equation. The only way you can be anywhere remotely close to Earth and be unaffected is if you already _know_ the full equation, or if you’re attached to that magic rope of Wonder Woman’s-”

“So Diana’s alive, at least,” Zatanna says pointedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” John snaps. “Do you want Darkseid to find me- _us_ -and make us fight on his side? Because that’s what will happen. And by the way, you’re welcome for your life, for the fact that you’re not _walking around like a zombie down there.”_

John’s voice rises two octaves to mimic Deadman’s strong accent, but the ghost only lets out a loud, humorless laugh. Zatanna puts her hands on her hips, scowling.

“Dammit, John, don’t make this about- there _must_ be a way.”

“There is a way.” Napi’s voice appears behind them and John jumps, then glares at the newcomer.

“Oh, good, the old man is here.”

“John…”

“In order for the gravitational waves to be affected to this extent, there must be at least two stations,” Napi says, ignoring John Constantine’s snark. “A station in the ocean, and a station on the moon. More, if Darkseid is as careful as he seems.”

“A huge magnet on the moon, you’re _sure_ that’s how this works?” John says, tossing his cigarette into the fire and shoving his hands into his pockets. Napi turns to look him in the eye.

“I watched as Zeus created his beings in his image,” the demigod says solemnly, although there is a flicker of humor in his eyes. “He gave them beauty, and simplicity, and the desire to conquer. But he did not give them his wisdom. He thought this gift should be reserved for the gods. I watched as he did all this, and I laughed.”

John blinks. Zatanna shakes her head.

“Look, if you boys are _finished_ measuring dicks, you can just _ask,”_ she says impatiently, gesturing towards the entryway.

John opens his mouth, but before he can get out a word, the front door of the House of Mystery knocks.

“That’s… shit, he’s _green.”_

“Boston, just open the fucking door.”

“That won’t be necessary,” J’onn J’onzz says, gliding through the door and into the house.

“Holy _sh-”_

“Are you here to tell us how to blow up the moon?” John Constantine asks blandly, interrupting Boston’s startled exclamation.

“I can give you precise instructions on how to accomplish that, but no. There’s a situation with some prisoners on Apokolips...”

 

* * *

 **ELYSIUM**  

There’s a man trudging through the fields, inspecting the wreckage from the war, directing a group of tractors as they lift metal and wood and bodies from the dirt. He moves through the aftermath like a soldier, like a man who owes nothing to the world, but who carries its weight anyway.

She watches him for a long moment, wondering. Once, he spent his entire life in another world, another plane of existence, where the sun was yellow, and the sky was blue, and life was full of simple, human tragedy and joy and love...

He looks up and notices her, and all at once he freezes, shading his eyes from the strange light that shines brightly overhead. The boys in the tractors follow his gaze, and when he waves his hand at them, they kill the engines and wait as he slogs across the wasteland towards her.

“Your Majesty.”

His hat is in his hand, and his face scrunched up in confusion, but Jonathan Kent approaches her respectfully, and without fear.

“We’re just getting this field cleared. What can I do for you?”

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, ruler of the Underworld stares down at him. She doesn’t answer. In another life, perhaps, she might have tossed him aside without a thought, in another life, she would have paused, and then moved on without a word, without deigning to even ask these questions of herself, much less of a man.

But she is here, and he is here, and he has an honest, weathered face, and once, he was alive...

“You fought well during the war,” she says instead, and her voice is cool, but not unfriendly. “So many of the humans fled, but you took your rightful place alongside the Gods, Amazons, Atlanteans.”

“It wasn’t my first war, ma’am. I know my duty when I see it.”

She nods once and looks over the bloodstained earth. The boys are whispering to each other, staring at her from around the bulky corners of the tractors.

“All is well with your people?”

He looks surprised, but he shoots a disgruntled smile at the young, curious faces.

“All’s well. A few injuries, nothing the healers couldn't fix up. But we’re glad you’re here, and that the end is finally in sight.”

An awkward silence falls. He’s staring at her, waiting. But despite everything, despite her thousands of years on Earth, battles fought, freedoms won, women rescued, countries rebuilt... she has never in her entire life had to ask a man permission for anything.

“Is there something we can help you with, Your Majesty?” he asks, interrupting her thoughts. The children are getting impatient. They are beginning to whisper amongst themselves, and their comments are as rude as their stares.

“No.”

She walks away. But the questions remain unanswered, and she cannot ignore the emptiness, the coldness brewing inside of her despite the warmth of the light overhead. She stops. He’s still watching her, confused, from the end of the road when she turns and looks back at him.

“...is it about Clark?”

She shakes her head, not looking away. The boys are staring openly now, tense, waiting. The bodies scattered across the field are staring, the entire underworld is staring down at her, their new Queen, as she searches in vain for the words that ask of something that cannot yet be described.

“Martha Kent spoke very highly of you,” she finally says. Jonathan’s hat tumbles out of his hands, but he strides forward without picking it up.

“...you've seen Martha?”

She raises her head and stares down at him, her gaze cool.

“We met in Man’s World, before…”

Before she fell onto her own blade and was led into the underworld. Before she sent Diana away, screaming and protesting, with a corrupt magician. Before Hades grinned at her and named her his successor. Before she gave the order for the spirits of the dead to ready themselves for yet another battle.

“So she was in the thick of it, was she?” Jonathan says, smiling a strained smile. “I guess she always did want to get out, do things. I just… never imagined her as the fighting type, taking charge.”

“She cares very much for your son.”

“Well, he’s a good kid. But Clark can take care of himself,” he says, his voice growing agitated. “She needs to live her own life, think about herself. It’s been twenty years. I mean, I couldn’t _believe_ it when Clark said she still had the farm.”

Some boy yells across the field at him, and is promptly punched by a friend. They’re too far away to hear properly, but Hippolyta can hear their small, arguing voices. Jonathan doesn’t bother to reply.

“Why are you angry at her for continuing your work?”

“I’m not- I, don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty, it just… we never got a chance to say goodbye,” he says softly. He’s turned away, staring off down the road. “I never got a chance to tell her to _live,_ to move on, to not keep doing the same old, same old because of me. She always wanted to travel, help people, do things, and she sacrificed everything for me, for Clark. It… it makes me angry that she still is, for whatever reason.”

The workers are beginning to drive the tractors back to the barns, and a quiet breeze is rolling down from the hills lining Elysium. Jonathan clears his throat abruptly and turns to look at her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I am going to find her. After the war.”

The words are better suited for Diana, for her stubborn, war-criminal loving child. But she has already spoken, and there is nothing left to do but allow the words to settle into the dusky atmosphere.

Jonathan Kent has frozen, his mouth still halfway open, mid-apology. Understanding rushes all at once into his eyes. After all, he’s spent thousands of years of his own down here, in the Underworld, listening to the stories about the legendary Amazons, their ways, their Queen.

_“You?”_

She nods once, eyes never leaving his face. He stares at her, speechless, but finally, at last, he turns away, arms crossed, mouth twisted into a wry smile. The barn doors are closed, and the dimming light is low over the empty fields.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

 

* * *

  **NATIONAL CITY**  

One computer screen is unaffected.

The wall is flashing with Superman’s face, the monotone drone of the Anti-Life Equation. The staff desktops throughout the building are playing the same sick film on a loop.

But the computer with Alexander Luthor’s flash drive plugged into it remains clear.

* * *

Kara paces the parameter of the room, x-ray vision scanning every angle of the building. Lena leans against the edge of her desk, arms crossed. She’d dropped the lasso like it was on fire the moment Kal-El finished reciting the Equation, and she’d ignored Kara’s concerned frown. Diana had stared at Isabel for a long moment, the lasso still pressed between them, and then she’d said almost apologetically,

“I didn’t get to Arthur.”

“I will _never_ hear any excuses again about needing that plane, you just flew five thousand miles in less than-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on something?” Diana had interrupted, pressing a finger against Isabel’s smirking mouth. And the chemist made a face at her and pulled away, but one hand was already scrabbling across the desktop keyboard.

Kara’s arguments about _getting out there and helping these people_ had long died away. As long as the Equation was still being broadcasted through the world, there was nothing to be done. Isabel decodes file after file from the flashdrive, putting the pieces together, the formula of how Alexander Luthor managed to ally himself with Darkseid- and how to dismantle the entire operation.

And so they wait, and watch as the people organize, the parademons fall into formation in the sky, and the New Gods descend onto Earth.

* * *

It takes Isabel less than an hour.

But the sky has darkened. The world has darkened.

Yesterday, around this time, Superman had risen from the dead.

Today…

“There are five stations on Earth, one in each of the oceans. And there are eight stations on the moon, one for each of the phases.”

“That’s ridiculous, the phases of the moon don’t affect-”

“He’s _your_ father, Lena, don’t go there,” Isabel interrupts, slapping two maps onto the desk. “Diana, take care of the ones on Earth, Kara, get the ones in space, and Jason and Lena and I will find the Society.”

“Are you okay with that?” Kara asks, scanning the map with an almost careless flash of red light from her eyes, then she’s reached out to place a hand on her girlfriend’s arm.

“I’m not afraid of my father, Kara. After all, he was one of the _nicer_ people from my childhood.”

Kara’s face twists into a frustrated expression as she rocks her head back and forth, but she doesn’t push the subject. Diana is busy trying to press the lasso back into Isabel’s hands.

“I’m not sending you into a den full of villains without some-”

“They’re my people, our people, they wouldn’t dare-”

“Yes, but...”

“Desperate times, _Princesa._ Now _go,_ we can argue about this when Darkseid is dead, and three other people aren’t eavesdropping.”

Diana shakes her head, half-way bent to brush a goodbye kiss against her wife’s lips, but she stops and turns abruptly, her eyes narrowed, listening...

“Did you hear-”

“What was that?” Kara says at the same moment, raising a hand and glancing around the shadowed room. Diana’s hand creeps down to grasp the lasso, and Etrigan the Demon hefts his sword. The building is silent. There are still swathes of parademons outside, but their chatter is muted by the thick windows. And then they… they _feel…_ something. And suddenly they all turn around as one, as if on some silent command, and stare into the dark waiting area outside of the office.

And Darkseid is there.

He is _here,_ sitting on the couch in Lena Luthor’s lobby, almost at one with the shadows. The latest version of CatCo- the absurdity of it- is held open between two gloved hands, as if he had simply been catching up while he waited for them to finish their plans.

No one dares to breathe. But time stands still as he carefully turns a page and flashes a grin at their horrified faces from behind the glossy paper.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I've started to put locations at the beginning of sections to hopefully make it more clear what's going on now that we have people all over the place... 
> 
> Also, there is a literal Tumblr devoted to panels of Darkseid sitting on couches/chairs, and it's amazing.
> 
> ~~Also, I know that conversation between Hippolyta and Jonathan isn't REALLY important to the plot, but it's my fanfic and you're reading it for free, so ;)~~


	13. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earthlings fight back against Apokoliptians.

* * *

**APOKOLIPS**

The old woman won’t stop laughing.

Boston hisses something about _shit,_ _did the Joker get a makeover?_ and Zatanna waves a shushing hand in his direction. John glares at them both.

This is why he works alone.

But, it’s not the first time they’ve done something crazy. John and Zatanna, they’ve had their fair share of mishaps over the years. Once, they were young, drunk on testing the limits of their own powers, blinded by their own “differentness”. Alone in the world.

And then there was Boston, thrilled to find people who could actually hear his lame jokes and tolerate his showman’s manners. And somewhere along the way, Zatanna met the Old Man: Napi, the demigod who left his footprints across legends and folktales.

The others, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, all these new members of the yoga pants club- they weren’t quite the same. Some of them, like Diana, dealt with basic magic, but the others were all force, no subtlety.

And that’s what got them here.

Batty. Green Suit. Red Falling Apart Suit. Red Suit With Hoodie/Sometimes A Kid.

John Constantine couldn’t have called them by their names if he tried.

The old woman keeps marching in a path between their cages, goading her prisoners between spells that made the caged figures writhe in pain.

J’onn J’onnz appears in the air beside them, and he gives a curt nod.

And then they attack.

Granny Goodness turns slowly, teeth bared in a wide smile as if to welcome her visitors to hell, but John and Zatanna are suddenly there, chanting spell after another, and she topples back as magic blasts into her. Boston swoops forward, shouting, disappearing into the dark armor. She screams, a blast of red fire erupting from her eyes, blazing across the ceiling, narrowly missing J’onn. But Napi flies forward and seizes the red-hot rays in his hands, extinguishing them immediately.

“I got it, I got it, I got it,” Granny Goodness’ words echoes across the wide room, her deep voice comical and ridiculous with Boston’s accent. J’onn drops down from the ceiling, seizing Granny’s shoulders, closing his eyes as he reads her mind.

 _“Come on, come on, come on…”_ John doesn’t know if it’s him or Zatanna muttering under their breath, waiting as the Apokoliptian flails, struggling against the Deadman’s possession.

But all at once, the cages open, and Batman stumbles down onto the concrete, panting, blood and sweat streaming down over his face. Shazam leaps forward, lightning blazing from his hands as he pushes back his bloodstained hood, and the Flash speeds out, running through a wall and then back again. Green Lantern flies into the air, ring aloft, his masked face streaked with tears, but his teeth bared in a wide, angry snarl.

Granny screams in rage, and Boston lets out a loud cry as he tumbles forward.

“LOOK OUT-”

But the Apokoliptian raises her hands, and the magic binding her retracts, sending Zatanna and John flying.

 _“Primitive_ _Earthlings.”_

Napi sends a ball of fire directly into her chest, but she only laughs as the flames lick up and down her armor. J’onn starts forward, but Granny Goodness raises her hands, and everyone is suspended in mid-air, as if time has frozen.

_“Let there be light!”_

The back wall slides aside, flooding the dungeon and all of its caged inhabitants with blinding light. A caped figure steps forward, red bolts blazing from his eyes, darting around the room to scorch the remaining prisoners. And try as they may, no one can move, they can only stare, unblinking, waiting for their death.

_“Be quick about it– we are needed, Kryptonian!”_

A familiar whirring sound fills the room, and a boom tube blasts down from the ceiling. Granny shouts a command, and the light dims just enough to revealing the terrifying sight of Superman, his heat vision burning prisoners to death left and right, his powerful figure dressed in a supersuit as black as night.

 

* * *

  **NATIONAL CITY**

The Amazons taught Diana for five thousand years that diplomacy always came first, to only attack when absolutely necessary.

Rising to infamy during a war full of atrocities taught Isabel Maru that her life would only succeed if she understood the network of lies that stood between her and her accomplishments, that her life would always be one of secret labs, illegal imports, under-the-table trades.

But Lena Luthor learned that life was a chessboard, that to succeed, she must always be five, six steps ahead of her competition. That she could never let anyone push her down or aside. Not even her friends. And especially not her enemies.

She steps forward, pushes open the glass door to her office, and approaches the waiting area- and the figure waiting within. After all, it’s not the first time an alien has appeared, unannounced, in her building.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

Darkseid closes the magazine. Lena flinches, but holds her ground. She hears Kara hissing in the background, but doesn’t tear her gaze away from the alien god’s cold, empty eyes.

“Most creatures approach me on their knees.”

“Most creatures knock before they enter my building.”

Darkseid laughs.

It is the most terrible sound in the universe.

“I expected more from the child they all fought so hard to protect,” Darkseid goes on, waving the magazine almost comically before setting it carefully onto the low coffee table. “Your powers have gone untested.”

“I do not-”

“Silence.” Darkseid’s voice a low rumble, and his eyes flash red, but Kara is suddenly there, arms outstretched, and Lena stumbles back, unharmed.

“That’s enough. We know how to end your operation. Go back to your planet, Darkseid. Or we’ll take you down with it.”

Darkseid doesn't reply, but Kara lets out a shout as she’s dragged back as if by an invisible hand, and hits the wall with a loud crunch.

“Diana.”

The New God rises, growing taller until his head nearly reaches the ceiling, and he stares down at the office’s occupants.

“I have seen universes where you succeed, Goddess. Timelines where your work is finished, where you never need to raise your sword again. Why do you pretend it is impossible?”

“I know it’s possible,” Diana says, fingers tightly gripping the lasso at her side. “But not your way, Darkseid.”

“You will die. All of those you fight for will die. Is that what you want?” The God says gently, looking down at them with almost a hint of a smile on his face. Diana moves forward and raises her head, goddess standing tall before before god.

“I am not afraid of Death.”

And the room is silent. The parademons are hovering thick outside the windows, nearly blocking all of the light from the darkening sky.

“You could be useful,” Darkseid says, his voice a low rumble. He takes a heavy step forward, turning his head to glare at the parademons staring into the room. They screech and back away. “But I do not have time to earn your loyalty. So I will offer you this choice: Stay, obey my commands, and become the leaders of the New Apokolips.”

Darkseid waves his hand at the window, and glances behind him at where Kara is brushing drywall from her suit.

“In exchange, I will give you your brother, Kryptonian, and you will rule the nations. I will free your sisters, Amazon, and you will become the new guard. You, human, I will give free rein of all our technology, and the ability to invent whatever you can imagine, in my name. You, demon, I will rid of this curse. And you, child of Anti-Matter and Life…”

The god turns and nods at Lena Luthor, standing in the background, staring up at him from around Wonder Woman’s shoulder.

“You will cast aside this facade and be trained by my warriors to fulfill your potential and _duty_ to kill the being that destroyed your mother’s world.”

The parademons are washed away, replaced by images of a world, a brighter world, a happier, more productive world. Apokoliptian technology merged with Kryptonian and Themysciran technology. A world without crime, without suffering, without judgement, without fear, without destruction...

Without freedom.

“...and the other option?”

Darkseid snaps his fingers and the parademons outside reappear, their faces pressed up hungrily against the window, mouths open and drooling.

“You will join the others in the cages of Apokolips, and my General will see to it that you are properly _trained_ for the New Earth.”

The parademon screams grow louder. Lena turns and looks back at Kara’s pale face. She shaking her head, her expression a mask of horror.

“You can’t do this to these people. You can’t take away their freedom, their lives, their ability to think for themselves.”

Darkseid stands still for a moment, as if considering, then he turns his head to look Supergirl in the eye and says,

“That is not for you to decide.”

Darkseid opens his mouth as if to continue, but there is a flash of whirring light from the office behind them... and a figure in green, bulky armor strides away from the boom tube.

“It’s not for you to decide, either, Darkseid.”

The Apokoliptian looks surprised, then he grins and opens his arms.

 _“Luthor,_ well done-”

 _“Slade, take him down!”_ Alexander Luthor interrupts, raising his hand and sending a bolt of energy barreling into the powerful god. Darkseid stumbles back, and that’s when a dark shadow emerges from the tunnel of light, blades flashing, and Apokoliptian blood goes flying across the room.

Vandal Savage appears next, fists raised, and then Etrigan the Demon joins the fray with a shout, and a gorilla roars, and a speedster is running circles around the bellowing god, and green vines are stretching up from the floor, winding their way over Darkseid’s armor, holding his arms in place, and more and more and more come, until Alexander Luthor propels forward, picking up the heavy god and all of the supervillains attacking him, and throws him out the window into the street below. The sound of shouts and screams and shattering glass spills into the room, and the parademons shriek as they scatter, hotly pursued by some of the more speedy Society members.

And then it is quiet.

Alexander Luthor catches his breath, then turns to look at the shocked faces staring back at him. He opens his mouth, then grimaces and pushes a button on his armor that lowers his helmet.

“Father-” Lena begins, but Alexander raises his head.

“Felix!”

The magician steps forward from where he’d been standing back in relative safety in the office. His robes are draped over his folded hands, and his face is smug.

“You called?”

Alexander doesn’t answer; his eyes are fixed on Lena’s face. He raises a hand and places it on her shoulder, and for a moment, he seems about to speak, but then he turns quickly and strolls away.

“...repair my daughter’s window, magician.”

And then he’s leaped from the room and down to the streets, where Darkseid is still being attacked by the Secret Society of Supervillains.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> For anyone who's not already on my tumblr, here is a link to a write-up I did explaining some things in this chapter/fic: 
> 
> http://bluejaywriter.tumblr.com/post/176026239560/one-of-the-things-i-dislike-the-most-about-comic
> 
> Two more chapters and an epilogue!!!


	14. Anti-Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band is (almost) all back together.

* * *

**NATIONAL CITY**

Diana is gone.

The moment Darkseid’s airborne body hit the street with a dull thud, Diana had turned and disappeared. And for a moment, Isabel almost thinks she can feel the gravitational waves shudder as the first ocean station is destroyed.

“I almost forgot. Here’re the meeting notes. You’re up for stenographer duties next time, Dr. Poison.”

Professor Zoom is standing before her, a smug smile on his masked face. Isabel snatches the stack of parchment from his hands, and the Reverse Flash is gone before she’s even read the first word. Darkseid’s roars echo up in the streets, and Supergirl turns to them.

“Are you-”

“You have a _job,_ Miss Danvers,” Isabel says sharply, but she finishes scanning the papers and crumples them up in her hands.

“But I-”

Isabel strides forward, her face hard.

“You are the only one who can do this. Now _go,”_ she orders, her expression softening fractionally as she adds, “Lena and I will meet you there.”

Supergirl nods once, darts a glance back, then turns and is gone, barreling into space faster than the speed of light.

“We will?”

Isabel glances around the room, then points to the hidden, lead-lined safe in the corner.

“We’re going to need that.”

 

* * *

 **APOKOLIPS**  

The back wall of the prison has crumbled, revealing a dark, dead, fiery planet. The white light of the rising sun is resting on the horizon, growing more with each passing second.

Granny Goodness is shouting curses in Apokoliptian, but Superman lingers, his eyes blazing with fire, trying in vain to roast Napi alive.

But the demigod does not budge.

He technically _can’t_ move; Granny’s spell or technology or whatever it is she cast over the dungeon sees to that, but inside, Napi is grinning from ear to ear as the dark-suited Kryptonian screams in frustration.

And then they are gone, and the boom tube vanishes. And the room is silent.

“Awww-right!”

“Shut up, Boston,” John Constantine’s groaning voice drifts up from the rubble, and a hand tosses aside a big chunk of rock, hitting Billy Batson in the head. He yelps and kicks it back.

“What? We’re _alive.”_ The ghost sounds genuinely confused, but Zatanna is already running across the room, kneeling beside the Dark Knight.

“ _Mih laeh!_ _Mih laeh!”_

Bruce groans, but he rises to his knees and rips off his cowl, running his hand over his head, where a deep gash has just been healed.

“You’ll have to have Alfred make you a new one,” Zatanna says, picking up the headpiece. It’s nearly been slashed in half, and it lies limp and shapeless in her hand. A cackle interrupts them, and they both look up to see Green Lantern floating over them.

“Maybe choose a different animal next time, too.”

Bruce scowls, but he rises and scans the room, counting heads.

“Is everyone here? Is anyone hurt?”

John emerges gracelessly from the rubble and deliberately turns his back to Bruce, muttering angrily around an unlit cigarette.

“...last thing we need is a _Scout leader_ giving orders…”

Barry speeds in, apparently having just completed a tour around the planet.

“Guys, I think you should take a look at the sky, the light is _really_ bright, it seems wei-”

“Anti-Matter,” J’onn announces, gliding back in. “We need to get off this planet. Now.”

Blank faces stare back at him, and John huffs but spreads out his arms in a mocking fashion.

“Well? Gather ‘round, children.”

“Anti-Matter? …I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m in,” Barry says, darting forward.

“That’s pretty much your life motto-” Hal begins.

“Not _now,_ boys. John, let’s _go,”_ Zatanna orders, turning around to stare as the wall of white steadily creeps its way towards the city. They wait with baited breath as it gets closer.

And closer.

...and closer.

Zatanna looks back at John’s face. He’s sweating.

“What the _hell_ are you waiting for, do you not see-?!”

“It’s. Not. _Working.”_

“What the _fuck_ do you mean it’s not _working?_ It’s the House! It’s _your_ House!"

“Well, maybe you can’t Apperate in and out of Hogwarts, Hermione!”

Zatanna shoves John aside and throws her palms up into the air. But he’s right. The House of Mystery does not appear.

_“Fuck.”_

“So… does this mean we’re going to d-”

“Quiet,” Bruce growls. “Anyone else?”

“They must be using some remote Apokoliptian technology to subdue our powers,” Napi says slowly. “If we can find the source-”

“Barry, how fast is that wall moving?”

“It seems to be about as fast as the sun... a thousand miles per hour, maybe more.”

 _“Too fast,”_ John mutters.

“If we spread out, we’d have a greater chance of-”

“No. We’re sticking together. Let’s go," Bruce says firmly, and for once, no one argues.

“John, give Batman a flying spell, it’s not fair the rest of us can fly,” Boston calls as he soars across the room.

“Oh, for the love of-”

 _“Thgilf dellortnoc mih evig!”_ Zatanna shouts, and then she’s punched John hard in the shoulder and zoomed off to meet the world head-on.

John snorts and crosses his arms, staring with a raised eyebrow as Bruce hovers in midair, his cloak spread like wings.

“If I were her, I would’ve given you a beak, too,” he says airily, snapping his fingers and lighting the cigarette.

“And if I were her, I would’ve punched you in the _face.”_ Bruce replies, and then his cloak flaps, and he’s gone, leaving John Constantine to smoke his cigarette alone.

“Bloody h... she gave him _superspeed?”_

* * *

1000 miles per hour.

16 miles per minute.

Spells. Lightning. Fire. Everything Green Lantern can possibly conjure to mind.

But the Anti-Matter does not slow.

They’re floating over a dried ocean on a green ship. It’s nothing but a deep, empty basin covered in sand and brimming with shapeless piles of dead sea life.

“So. Sitting around in limbo for the rest of time is sounding pretty good now, doesn't it?”

John has come to stand beside Zatanna on the deck, hands in his pocket, jacket snapping in the wind. She sighs, then glances behind them at the others.

“Did you tell him?”

John looks, then scowls.

“I hate that stupid-”

 _“Tell_ him.”

John glares at her, but pushes himself off of the railing and strolls across the green deck to where Bruce is standing alone.

“Mr. Wayne.”

“John.”

“I want you to know that Alfred- Alfred and Mrs. Kent, they’re safe. They’re in the House of Mystery. In Limbo. Once this is all over, someone will get them… hopefully someone friendly.”

Bruce stares at the magician for a long moment, his face unchanging, and John finally rolls his eyes and begins to saunter away, but he feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s shaking slightly, and he doesn’t have to turn around around to know that Bruce Wayne is unable to speak.

“...thank you.”

“Well. You owe me,” John says lightly, and then he’s brushed the man’s hand off and returned to Zatanna’s side.

“See? Was that so ha-”

“Land ho!” Hal shouts, pointing to the horizon.

They look, and it’s a wall of white, identical to the wall of white behind them.

“Well, fellas… lady,” Green Lantern says, hopping down from the control room. “This is it. It’s been nice knowing y’all.”

But his voice cracks, and when Barry hugs him, he mumbles unintelligible things about _being okay, stupid,_ into his friend’s shoulder.

“Napi, why don’t you tell us one of your old, wise stories," John says, his voice deliberately friendly. "What the bloody hell is this?”

“It is Anti-Matter, the opposite of Matter," Napi begins, ignoring John's tone. "When they collide, all matter is destroyed, leaving behind a void. It’s said that at the beginning of time, Anti-Matter lay dormant, safe and locked away, but for Krona, the thirst for knowledge of the universe overcame his sense of duty to mankind, and he opened the door between our worlds, disrupting the order of the universe, and all of reality itself.”

The ship slows to a stop before the wall, and turns slowly to face the wall advancing towards them from the East.

And they stand, and stare as it gets closer.

.

.

.

“I hate this.”

Boston glances around and locks on to Billy Batson’s small figure, standing at the rail, facing his death like some brave boy-king.

“What, dying?”

Billy nods once, shoving his hands into his pockets and shivering. Boston claps him on the shoulder.

“Ain’t nothing to worry about, kid… ain’t nothing to worry about.”

.

.

.

“I watched as my planet was invaded and burned. But it was nothing so terrible as this.”

John snorts at the Martian’s grim comment, but for once, doesn’t retort out a biting remark.

The light has almost eaten away at the entire dead ocean now.

“Well, shit.”

A bitter wind howls over the deck. The sky is almost completely white.

The ship is quiet.

.

.

.

“...guys, do you hear someone shouting?”

Bruce opens his eyes.

_“...jump on.”_

“What the…”

Barry leaps to his feet, shielding his eyes from the blinding light of nothing.

“Jump _on,_ you idiot!”

“...jump on to _what?!”_ Barry screams, and two figures hurl through the air towards him. And even the Flash doesn’t have time to run before Lena Luthor grabs him under the arms and heaves him up into the invisible plane.

.

.

.

 _“Diana.”_ Bruce breathes, a sigh of relief. But his smile is quickly erased as he sees the plane’s occupants.

“Isabel!” Napi shouts, and then he’s grabbing Billy by the shirt and tossing him through the invisible door, and then Hal is next, his ring still held aloft.

It’s Dr. Poison. And Lena Luthor. The last time he faced a Luthor...

“Come _on!”_ Isabel Maru shouts, and Bruce shakes himself, as if in a trance. Zatanna is scrambling on board, John close behind. J’onn and Boston melt into the plane, avoiding the door altogether, and the Napi’s hand is on Bruce’s elbow.

“After you, Mr. Wayne.”

And then they’re being yanked into the plane, and they’re lifting off, and the ship is gone, and Anti-Matter is pressing in around them like some kind of escape room with spiked walls...

And Lena Luthor raises her head.

_...ild… child..._

Anti-Matter. Anti-Matter, everywhere, blanketing the dead planet of Apokolips.

She looks… and she thinks she can see the outline of a figure in the midst of Nothing. An enormous figure, stretching up for miles. A figure that is barely a shadow of blue.

_Child._

“Who... who is that. Who is…” But she looks around the cabin, and the other occupants are screaming, unhearing, unnoticing. Shouting things at the plane, at them, at each other, trying to urge speed from the four corners of the universe.

_Come, child._

“Who _are_ you?”

And there’s a throbbing ray of light as the boom tube envelopes them, and the dying world falls away.

But Lena leans forward in her seat, straining for a glimpse of the destroyed earth, ignoring the cheers and cries filling her ears. The only thing she can hear is a whisper, warm and amused.

_Anti-Monitor._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! This chapter was so much fun to write, and I love seeing this strange hybrid of Leagues working together.
> 
> Also... we're close to the end, folks, THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LAST and then an epilogue!!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!! :)


	15. Unity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To Darkseid._

* * *

**THE MOON**

Superman. Supergirl. Granny Goodness. Cyborg.

_Diana destroyed the Earth stations..._

Isabel sighs in relief, even as Lena Luthor screams Kara’s name.

“Barry-”

“I’m on it!”

Barry and Hal are the first ones out, the speedster and a green freight train ramming into Granny Goodness with a force that momentarily knocks the Apokoliptian off her feet, giving Cyborg the opportunity to blast her with the missiles he has for arms.

“Isabel! I’m going ahead,” Napi shouts, his hand raised towards her, a sign of respect, and then he is gone, shooting through space, returning to the surface of the earth. A streak of green follows him: J’onn, just barely missing the red rays blazing from two pairs of Kryptonian eyes.

_See to it that they are safely returned. I’ll find Diana._

Isabel watches as they disappear into the dark, fighting the urge to swing the plane around and follow. But Diana can take care of herself, and these people… she turns her attention back to the situation at hand. Bruce has opened his mouth to say something, but the chemist has already clambered out of the cabin, one hand in the lining of her coat. Lena Luthor is already running across the dusty terrain; a lead-lined suitcase lays open across one of the invisible seats.

John Constantine and Zatanna are shouting at Isabel’s fleeing back, and Bruce watches as they both glare at each other, then the magician waves an impatient hand at Boston and the three of them disappear into thin air.

_To the House of Mystery._

_Alfred..._

“Hey! You coming?”

It’s Shazam, the man who, moments earlier had been sniveling on the deck of a doomed ship… Bruce shakes his head and plunges into the fray.

* * *

 Kryptonite.

Lena Luthor started shooting lessons within the first week that her father brought her home, a tiny child with a custom-made handgun clutched in her shaking hands. But soon she could shoot-to-kill fast targets, long-distant targets, close targets, small targets. Lionel had even brought her into one of his labs and trained her on shooting super-speed targets.

But shooting, not to kill, but to _maim_ a rogue Kryptonian? When another Kryptonian is the one fighting him? When that other Kryptonian is Kara Danvers?

The gun is heavy in her hand, but she takes a deep breath and raises it. Isabel is running away from the last base, the building that houses the technology affecting the gravitational waves… she ducks and covers her head with her arms as it violently explodes, rocking the horizon, but the waves are still throbbing at a stunted hiccup through the universe…

 _Science, not magic,_ Isabel had shouted at the rude Englishman and that cute, fishnet-wearing Homo Magi, and then they had disappeared, and now Isabel is throwing a look over her shoulder, a grenade clutched in one hand, her eyes fixed on Supergirl…

Superman lets out an angry shout as Kara’s fist meets the black symbol on his chest, and they both go down, throwing up a cloud of moon dust as they land, a crater erupting beneath them.

“Lena, now!”

She hears her name, and then she moves. She moves like the half-Anti-Matter, half-human hybrid she is, and the bullet flies through the air, and Kara shoves her cousin in front of it, and it lands directly in his torso, cutting through the dark, Apokoliptian fabric, piercing the steely flesh, and embedding under his skin.

_“Danvers!”_

Clark Kent is screaming in pain, a high, strangled scream, but Supergirl spins around and the bomb Isabel has thrown is hovering in midair… and red beams blaze out of her eyes, striking it directly, sending it back into the center of the crumbling station, and there’s an explosion that rocks the core of the moon, and the equipment, the gravitational-wave altering technology-the latest project of Alexander Lionel Luthor-is destroyed.

Granny Goodness disappears. A bolt of energy flares where she was last standing, and Hal and Barry and Billy all collapse against one another, thrown together.

“Ride ain’t over yet!” Victor Stone shouts, waving a gun-fist at the distant earth, where he knows Granny Goodness has just reappeared.

“Clark!” Bruce runs and kneels down beside Superman’s convulsing body, waving an impatient hand at Cyborg to come over. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“He should be incapacitated for about an hour,” Lena calls over from where Kara and Isabel are pointing at the night sky.

“It seems the Apokoliptians exposed him to the Equation,” Victor mutters, scanning him with his red eye. “He needs to be freed from it.”

“I thought that’s what the waves were for-”

“Victor!” Isabel is waving at them, and she shouts something about _coordinates._ Bruce watches as Victor glances over the sky, then shouts back some numbers…

“I can do it if you…” Barry begins, one hand raised like a schoolboy, but Kara has already darted off, flying so low over the surface of the moon, her fists are skimming its dusty crags.

The explosion had rocked the moon off of its path.

And Supergirl is moving it back into place.

 

* * *

**ATLANTIS**

At the first station, a pod of blue whales barrel directly towards her, attempting to spin her off course.

Then there are sharks, thousands of them swarming, snapping.

And then a giant squid.

But at the fourth station, Diana snaps out the lasso, and Mera is yanked, struggling, to her feet.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

The Queen of Atlantis grips the Amazon’s shoulders, and despite the power of the Lasso of Truth pulsing through her, her eyes remain dull.

_“Loneliness… Alienation...”_

Diana wraps her arms around the trembling woman, ignoring Isabel’s scoffing voice in her head, _Are you a comforter or a warrior? Pick up your weapon and fight, your delays may have already cost countless lives…_

But no, it is not her precious war criminal wife’s voice in her head, but Antiope’s. Nearly twenty-one hours have passed since Steppenwolf’s ax clove through her chest, but for her, three thousand years…

 _“Darkseid… Self..._ ” Mera murmurs, her hands pressed up to her own eyes, listening to the call of the ocean, the cries of the infected creatures swimming its depths. Suddenly, one hand rises and points, almost as if against its own will, and Diana hesitates for a moment, then turns and speeds towards the next station, the Equation-ravaged queen gripped tightly in her arms.

* * *

_I am the King. I will not be deterred, Old Man._

But Napi ducks as the trident hurls through the water towards him, and he pushes Aquaman aside as the station behind them explodes. The demigod can feel the fragments of the Equation ripping through his mind, flashing, sputtering, but it is no longer rolling through him in strong, relentless waves.

The last station on the moon has fallen. And now, the last station in the oceans. Napi reaches out a hand, but Arthur Curry ignores it and reaches for his trident instead.

“You… you were at the meeting, with the Bat...”

His voice trails off, and he spins around, ready to face this new distraction. But his defensive stance melts away and he lunges forward with a shout, because there, speeding towards them through the water is Diana, Princess of Themyscira, and Mera, his Queen, is swimming freely at her side.

“Napi!” Diana reaches out and embraces him tightly, her face beaming with delight. The last time they’d seen each other, the Underworld had been in shambles, demons pouring up from the lower levels of Hell to subdue the uprising, and the demigod’s face had been pale with fear. But here, they are victorious. The stations have been destroyed. The Equation is stopped. The oceans are at peace.

“Good to see you alive. Last I saw you, it wasn’t looking so good,” Arthur says, his arms still wrapped around his wife as he nods at Diana with a broad grin. “This one beheaded Steppenwolf in one stroke, while _Superman_ stood off to the side, _blowing.”_

“That’s not fair, the man had only been raised from the dead hours before-” Diana says, not looking up from coiling her lasso neatly at her side.

“Yeah?” Aquaman snorts. “So have _you,_ and I don’t see you attacking your teammates, or hanging back from fights-”

“Speaking of Superman,” Napi interrupts, and Arthur waves an impatient hand. “Darkseid has arrived on earth. J’onn went to join the fight, but most of the Leaguers are still on the moon-”

“You don’t rest, do you?” Arthur growls, but he presses a hard kiss to his wife’s lips, then releases her and swims forward. The ocean goes silent as the King raises his arms, his trident glimmering in the stilted sunlight.

“Atlanteans... to _Darkseid!”_

 

* * *

**THE MOON**

The invisible plane is crowded. But Bruce and Billy haul Superman’s body inside, and Barry and Hal are already speeding back to earth on their own. Isabel and Victor give the stations one final scan to make sure everything is destroyed beyond repair, and then they return to the plane, where Lena is inspecting Superman’s body, as well as she can with Bruce Wayne darting venomous glances at her.

“...understand that all of the Kryptonite was to be destroyed when Lex Luthor was arrested-”

“Lena Luthor just saved your life, Mr. Wayne,” Isabel says, sliding into the driver’s seat and glancing over her shoulder at them. “I suggest you save your energy for fighting Darkseid.”

“Mr. Wayne… as in _Bruce Wayne?”_ Kara says incredulously, turning to stare at Bruce’s cowl-less head.

“That can wait, too, Danvers,” Isabel calls as the plane takes off towards Earth. Victor grimaces, but says nothing. Being the Cyborg means that no alter egos are hidden from him…

“Excuse me, and who are y-” Kara begins, throwing back her head and glaring towards the front of the plane.

“He’s coming to, shit, shit, _shit-”_ Lena interrupts, reaching behind her and snatching at the lead-lined suitcase. Superman is groaning, his fingers twitching.

“Look, there he is!” Billy crows. Darkseid is below, and he’s enormous, taller than the tallest building in National City, and he’s slinging punches at Secret Society members like King Kong on the Empire State Building. The Flash is racing alongside Professor Zoom, Green Lantern is smashing a green hammer onto one of Darkseid’s feet while Poison Ivy’s vines wind up the Apokoliptian’s ankle, keeping it in place.

“Dammit, dammit, _Clark,”_ Kara is saying, pressing a palm against her cousin’s forehead and frowning, but her head jerks up as Billy lets out another shout, pointing towards the invisible floors. The Amazons are pouring across the desert, taking down swarths of parademons, and the oceans are boiling with sea-dwellers as they pluck the servants of Darkseid from the sky and drag them under.

“You keep that _away_ from him,” Bruce says angrily, bringing Kara’s attention back to the inside of the plane. Bruce has one hand reaching for his belt and the other is shoving the case out of Lena’s grasp.

“Stop, he needs-”

“He’s still infected,” Victor calls from the front seat. “He needs to stay out until we can-”

_CRACK._

“WHAT THE-”

But the plane jerks wildly in mid-air, then goes spiraling towards the concrete city below. Supergirl leaps out and attempts to steady it, but Granny Goodness is there, and she’s larger than life, larger than the largest airplane, and she plucks Supergirl away with ease and throws her across the horizon.

“Time to wake up, Kal-El!” Granny Goodness shouts, reaching into the plane and snatching Clark’s body from inside. Shazam clambers up her arm and lands a punch on her nose before she flicks him off. Clark’s eyes fly open as long fingers close around his torso, and they blaze with fire as he roars in pain, and Granny Goodness laughs, then throws the plane down towards the sea, not noticing that Lena Luthor is hanging desperately onto Superman’s heel… she swings her arm up, and there’s a glittering knife in her hand, and she stabs Clark Kent right in the calf, the Kryptonite laced blade sinking into his flesh like butter... and then his leg kicks out and she’s hurling up into the sky, screaming…

And Isabel watches from the remains of a plane careening towards destruction, and she seizes Bruce Wayne’s arm, and they stare at each other...

“Save that girl. If it’s the last thing you do, _save that girl.”_

And then she shoves him out of the plane, and he watches as it sinks through the air, tumbling over itself in its rush to meet the sea, and then an explosion rocks the horizon as it hits the water…

_Diana’s going to kill me._

He hears a scream, and turns. He still has the power of controlled, superspeed flight from Zatanna’s spell, but to use it to save the sister of Lex Luthor?

Bruce Wayne believes in justice.

But death is not just.

That’s the reason why the Joker is alive, even after they brought back Jason’s beaten and bloodied body. That’s the reason why he left Heretic and Talia alone after finding Damien dead in the lobby of Wayne Tower. It’s the reason why the world is still turning after Nightwing’s death, the reason why Joe Chill is still alive in prison…

Batman lets out an angry growl and surges forward, following the screams across the desert sky.

 

* * *

 

The Equation has ended.

The people are running through the streets, chasing down parademons with loaded guns, kitchen knives, shovels, pitchforks, baseball bats.

The parademons screech and take to the sky, one by one.

They’re used to feeding off of fear.

They’re not used to feeling fear themselves. 

 

* * *

**NATIONAL CITY**

Darkseid is on his knees on the riverfront, the combined efforts of the Secret Society of Super Villains and the newly-freed Justice League keeping him subdued, keeping him from getting back up.

And then the gods arrive.

Darkseid grimaces as they appear on the horizon, racing towards the single target that is _him._

God of the Oceans. God of the Plains. Goddess of Magic. Goddess of War.

_Bring him down, bring him DOWN..._

They’re close. He can see their fierce, hungry faces. He can see into their eyes, see their history, see the thousands, _millions_ of choices they made to arrive at this very moment in time. He can see every alternate timeline had a single one of those choices been different.

“Darkseid!” The Goddess of War is addressing him now, her face a mask of righteous anger. _“Do you surrender?”_

The Lord of Apokolips raises his head. Some flea-like superheroes (supervillains?) fall away. Granny Goodness is struggling further up the river, bodies of super-powered vermin piled upon her, keeping her restrained, and Kal-El is on the ground, gasping like a fish as the poison seeps through his body.

“Oh, children, children,” Darkseid murmurs. Someone lands a punch on the back of his head and he sighs.

And then he rises to his feet and stretches out an enormous hand.

And the world goes silent as time stops.

His attackers freeze in midair, even those falling from his body to the ground. Even those hovering before him in the sky. Even those fighting on the other side of the world, those swimming through the depths of the sea.

And Darkseid smiles a grim smile as he surveys the motionless faces before him.

“No. I do not.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! This "last" chapter ended up being 4000 words and I decided to split it into two, and then deleted three scenes.
> 
> It still ended up pretty long...


	16. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~Everyone dies~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to conclude the events of the last chapter.

 

* * *

Darkseid waves a hand, and Granny Goodness crawls out from under the floating pile of superheroes. She spits in their direction, then tosses her cape over her shoulder.

 _“Hail,_ Lord Darkseid.”

But the New God has already knelt down in the sand beside Superman’s body, and with a piercing ray of red from his eyes, the knife slides away from his flesh and the wound is healed. Clark coughs and groans, but when he opens his eyes and sees Darkseid looming overhead, he leaps to his feet and gives a low bow.

“Rise, Kal-El, and see the world I have saved… see the world that you will rule.”

Darkseid sweeps his hand across the sky, his eyes lingering for a moment over the frozen faces, the frozen world. Even the tree branches and ocean waves have gone still, awaiting the command from their new ruler.

 _“Darkseid is,”_ Superman says in a low voice, his eyes glowing red as he glares at the protectors of earth.

“Spare their lives, Kal,” Darkseid says quietly. “They fought bravely, and when they wake, they will be mine.”

The Lord of Apokolips steps forward, and the earth trembles at his footfalls. Granny Goodness and Superman trail behind, following their lord, commander, leader.

“Do you see, my children? I do not need your science. I do not need your time. I do not need your powers. All of your efforts, as admirable as they were, were in vain. I wield the Equation, and the Equation wants for nothing but a wielder.”

The motionless figures are unable to respond, and Darkseid’s mouth twitches.

“Your lives are a gift from Darkseid, and so you will live for Darkseid. You will die for Darkseid. You will inhabit my world and produce wonders beyond the dreams of mortals, with the Equation controlling your minds, and my name on your lips. I will be enough for you, until there is nothing left on New Apokolips but Darkseid…”

He stops, staring straight ahead.

There is more he wanted to say.

But something has caught his eye, some…

...some motion in the midst of a motionless world.

The god turns and stares for a long moment at the sight of the newcomer, then a slow smile spreads over his face.

“My child... look around,” Darkseid says, his voice pitying as he steps forward. But the hand at his side has balled into a fist. “Look, and see that you are too late.”

And she raises her head, and she looks. She looks, and she sees wave upon wave of souls blanketing the Earth, warriors trained by her general for this very moment, their armor and weapons glinting in the dull sunlight. She looks, and sees that each one of them is now rendered useless in the face of the Equation, that this army from the Underworld has no power here, in a world with no time... she looks, and sees Menalippe and the Amazon warriors she had led up from Themyscira, their eyes now vacant and hands empty. She looks, and she sees the earth-dwellers, the men and women and children, guilty and innocent, defenseless and powerless against the will of Darkseid.

She looks, and she sees Diana… frozen in midair, the lasso of truth hovering before her, her teeth bared in a warrior’s grimace, her precious daughter, returned from the dead, defeated at last…

“Set them free, Darkseid, and I will be merciful.” _Release my daughter, and perhaps I will give you a fair trial before the Old Gods..._

“Noble queen, it is not for you to make demands on the New Apokolips,” Darkseid says softly. Granny Goodness hisses in appreciation and starts forward, her whip raised, but Darkseid stops her with the slightest movement of his gloved hand. “You must learn your place, Hippolyta. All sentient beings await my command, they await my control. Do not tempt me into issuing an order I will regret.”

“It is not my _responsibility_ to cater to your emotions-”

“My child, you are dangerously close to being _controlled_ before all living eyes upon this earth. Surely you do not wish to relive the days before your… _rebellion?”_

And Hippolyta raises her head. Darkseid’s eyes flicker red as she stares up at him, and if she still had blood in her body, it would be running cold at his cruel smile. Antiope growls and starts forward, but Hippolyta stops her with a look.

“I offer you a final chance to surrender, son of Khan,” Hippolyta says, her voice as steely as the blade in her hand. “Release the earth-dwellers, and we will parry with reason rather than swords.”

“Swords? Do you think you can defeat the Lord of Apokolips with _metal?”_ Darkseid lets out a loud, humorless laugh, and as one, every mouth on earth opens and laughs along. Hippolyta says nothing, and Darkseid waves a hand, and the living freeze once more.

“No, child, it is futile to try. It is done: I wield the Anti-Life Equation, and in time, I will command you as I command _all of life,”_ Darkseid rumbles, shifting to face the approaching warrior, raising his heavy fists.

But Hippolyta is not deterred, and Darkseid snarls as she leaps forward to meet him… and he swings, intending to use his infinite strength to crush the Amazon Queen against his knuckles, intending to knock her to the ground and let his lieutenants beat her down into submission… but his fist only connects with thin air, and the red Omega beams from his eyes blaze into nothingness… he lets out a roar of anger, screaming for his servants to attack, but it’s too late: the bloodstained sword descends, and a split second before her blade cleaves his head in two, the Goddess of Death leans forward, smiles a bitter smile at Darkseid’s stunned, weathered face, and whispers,

_“I am not alive.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~THE BADASS QUEEN HAS RETURNED TO CRANK UP THE BADASSERY TO ONE THOUSAND PERCENT~~
> 
> Thanks for reading!! There WILL be an epilogue and it will be LONG. But I am going to tie up a few plotlines from this fic in the last chapter of "Silver Moon's Sparkling" (specifically some of the Supercorp and WonderPoison events), and I'm also going to be writing a 3-4 chapter fic about what happens with Hippolyta and Martha Kent after this ~~SINCE SHE'S BACK~~.
> 
> Geek Footnote: You could probably argue that the Anti-Life Equation controls all sentient beings, so the dead WOULD be subjected to its power, but... it's the Anti-LIFE equation. It's meant to control LIFE. (In other words, please give me this loophole, because I don't see any other way to defeat Darkseid in this timeline, he's too smart, and I didn't want to mess with MORE poisonous rocks, or deal with how to introduce Orion).


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of all things.
> 
> Some beginnings, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This epilogue is long. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~But at least it's not angsty.~~

 

* * *

The battle is over.

Darkseid’s body wavers as his thick skull is cracked down the middle, and for a moment, he struggles to regenerate, bone and sinew beginning to grow over the empty space between his eyes, but Hippolyta throws down her sword and reaches forward. And Darkseid stares as she sweeps her hands through his crumbling body and draws out his soul, his spirit, the essence that gives him life and breath.

And the dead warriors scream in victory as she turns and holds it up in her palm **,** squirming and trembling for the world to see.

 

* * *

 

Lena Luthor opens her eyes.

Bruce Wayne is carrying her.

Bruce Wayne is flying, and carrying her.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she murmurs, closing her eyes again. She’s not a fan of staring up strange people’s noses, and she’s especially not a fan of being _this close_ to men she doesn’t know, but she can feel the brokenness in her bones, the struggle to even form words.

“I don’t.”

And Lena laughs.

* * *

The next thing she knows, someone is lifting up her head, and she opens her eyes to see a fierce, weathered face staring back at hers.

 _“Steady,_ sister.”

Lena blinks. The exhaustion is gone. The pain is gone.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Antiope grins down at her, then she raises her head and calls,

“Mena! Come take a look at this.”

And Lena sits up as a tall warrior approaches and kneels down beside her.

“Slowly, slowly,” she warns, placing a strong hand on Lena’s shoulder. “You fought bravely, dear one. Already, they are talking of your deeds.”

“What did I do this time?” Lena says warily, looking from face to face. Antiope smiles, and something in Lena’s gut twitches as she recognizes the expression on the Amazon General’s face.

_Pride._

“You held your own against the invaders. You faced Darkseid alone. You took down the Kryptonian. These are no small deeds, daughter.” Menalippe reaches out and presses a calloused hand against Lena’s cheek. Her gaze is soft. “Let the Princess know when you are ready to begin your training. The Amazons will be waiting for you.”

And then the two women rise and begin to walk away, Antiope bowing her head as she takes Mena’s hand. Hippolyta has already called for the dead to return to their realm, and time and tide wait for no one.

“So you’re an Amazon, too. I should’ve known.”

Lena’s head jerks, and she sees Bruce Wayne standing a short distance away.

“You… you had no right to listen to-”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Lena opens her mouth to retort, but all at once, Diana and Kara are there.

“Lena! Rao, what have they done to you-”

“More like, what did I do to _them,”_ Lena replies, but she winces for the first time, and Kara kneels down beside her.

“Easy, easy, easy, I’ve got you-”

“Where’s Isabel?”

Diana is scanning over the faces, her words almost an absent-minded reflection of her thoughts, but Lena turns and looks at Bruce, and Diana follows her gaze. And in a second, she’s landing before the stoic man, staring directly into his eyes.

“Where is she?”

Bruce refuses to look at her.

_“Where is she?!”_

“The plane crashed in the Pacific, just past the cliffs,” he says in a low voice. “...I’m sorry, Princess.”

Diana lingers for a moment, wavering, as if she doesn’t know whether to scream or sob. And then she turns, and she’s gone.

 

* * *

 

“All right! John! They’re moving, they’re moving again, we can go back, let’s get out of here!”

John Constantine throws his cigarette onto the concrete floor of the Batcave and raises his hands. Boston soars excitedly overhead, beaming.

“She split that purple dude’s head in _two!_ Like a fucking _walnut!”_

Alfred Pennyworth rolls his eyes, but his head is already bent over a keyboard, his hands busy with an attempt to reestablish connection with Batman. Martha Kent is sitting in the corner, wringing her hands, wanting to ask so many questions, but not trusting her voice to say a single word.

And then John lets out a shout, and the House of Mystery plummets down through the air, the Batcave portion of the House spitting out and crashing into an endless stretch of soft sand.

“What the _fuck_ was _that?!”_

_“Orchid! Explain this!”_

_“I didn’t know…”_

The voices grow distant as the House of Mystery floats down to a rest on the horizon with almost smug gentleness. The wreckage of the Batcave creaks ominously, and Martha coughs and waves a hand in front of her face. So she can still move her arm. And she can still see.

 _“Alfred?_ Are you there?”

She can hear rubble shifting, uneven footsteps, groaning.

“Hold on, Mrs. Kent, let me see if I-”

But his voice cuts off abruptly, and the metal sheet over her is ripped away, flooding her eyes with hot desert sunlight. Martha throws her arm up over her face, but not before she sees a glint of gleaming armor looming over her.

“Are you hurt?”

Cool fingers brush the strands of hair away from her eyes, and she slowly lowers her arm to see the Queen’s concerned face staring down at her.

“But... you’re dead.”

“Are you _hurt?”_ she repeats, her gaze sweeping over her body, hands feeling for broken bones. Martha feels her cheeks turning red and she waves a dismissive arm, making those striking blue eyes stare down at her flushed face.

“I’ll be _fine,_ it’s just a few bruises.”

Hippolyta doesn’t look convinced, but she smoothes down her rumpled sweater and slides a hand beneath her head, lifting her up from the bed of broken concrete and into her arms.

_I heard your prayers. Give me the word, and I will answer them all..._

Easy words. Simple words. But Martha Kent’s gaze is unmoving from her face, and her hand has reached up to stroke the fur pelt hanging down over her shoulder, but she’s smiling as if she can’t help it...

“I can’t believe it…”

The trembling fingers rise to brush over her cheek, soft and light and tender, and Hippolyta turns her face into that palm, pressing her lips gently against the cold skin. And then she bends down and brushes that dusty forehead with a light kiss. A simple kiss. A kiss for a survivor. But Martha is looking up at her with a wry expression as Hippolyta pulls away, and she stares back at her, a shiver of fear racing through her insides.

“What is it?” Hippolyta asks, and her voice is shaking, vulnerable like it hasn’t been in centuries. But Martha Kent slowly shakes her head and grins up at her. And her eyes are dancing, sparkling like starlight as she reaches up and slides her arms around her neck.

“I think you can do better than that.”

Hippolyta flashes an almost wicked smile at her, and leans forward as if to comply, but she abruptly raises her head, staring off at the empty sky. They’ve heard. They’re coming. They’ll be here in seconds, in an instant.

“Go on. All the world’s waiting for you.” Martha Kent’s voice is tired, disappointed. But she’s smiling a knowing smile at her, like she’s used to this: sending off heroes, saying goodbye.

Hippolyta picks her way through the rubble and gently sets her onto her feet. And a split second before Clark Kent swoops down and pulls his mother into a bear hug, Hippolyta leans forward, brushes her fingers against Martha’s hair, and whispers,

_“I will come for you.”_

And then she is gone.

 

* * *

 

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey!”

But Barry Allen doesn’t hear until Hal Jordan appears at his side and punches him in the arm. He was busy staring open-mouthed at the scene of the world reawakening, of the dead helping the living, of superbeings running too and fro. It’s like a movie, like a video game. “You hungry?”

“Oh, yeah,” Barry replies, jerking out of his stunned state at the mention of food. “Hey, there’s this pizza place in downtown Central City, we should go, they have this awesome special-”

“I was thinking more like, space.”

Barry stares, his excited expression clouding over.

“...haven’t we spent enough time in space?”

“I meant like, we could go to headquarters. Oa. You could come with me, we could report to the Guardians what happened…”

“I mean, sure. Whatever,” Barry shrugs. “I’m in, as long as they have food. Hey, why didn’t _they_ help with the whole Motherbox, Darkseid thing? Aren’t they supposed to, you know, _patrol the universe?”_

“Yeah, long story. I’ll try to explain it on the way, it’s… political,” Hal says, his voice dropping to a mumble as he rises into the air. But the clamor of the world dies down as they gain altitude, and Barry hears every word. But he only laughs, then zooms ahead and shouts,

“Sure, you can explain it- if you can _talk_ while eating my dust!”

And Cyborg smiles grimly as they disappear into the darkening sky.

_We're the accidents._

_Yeah, that's us._

But at least those two accidents look like normal people when they’re not in their suits.

“Hey, Mr. um… Mr. Cyborg.”

And Victor looks down at the tentative hand on his elbow. It’s the boy, Billy Batson.

“Hey, um, I just had to ask… are you really Victor Stone? _Victory_ Stone? Number 7?”

_Not anymore._

But the boy’s eyes are shining, despite the hoodie pulled low over his eyes and the fists shoved casually into his jacket pockets. And Victor hesitates, then shrugs and extends a metal hand.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

 

* * *

 

Zatanna Zatara stands at the edge of a cliff she doesn’t remember climbing.

She remembers realizing that the Equation had released its hold over the Earth, she remembers sprinting out of the House of Mystery, she remembers finding Napi, seeing the God of the Oceans and a Goddess of War at his side, and realizing there was a place for her, there, shoulder to shoulder with them.

And then they attacked, and time went still, and when it began to move once more, there were spirits everywhere, warriors taking down parademons, an Amazon with dark armor and a long braid swooping down over Granny Goodness, general to general, taking off her head in a single stroke.

And then it was over.

“Well. I’m sure we’ll see each other for whatever decides to attack Earth tomorrow.”

Zatanna turns to see Jason Blood standing behind her, arms crossed, face unsmiling. She reaches out, pulls him forward, loops her arm through his.

_Just a couple of vagabonds, wandering the world..._

“...that was much later, about 13,000 years ago…”

She can hear Napi’s light, musical voice, and she glances over Jason’s shoulder to see the demigod approaching with J’onn, the two of them deep in some discussion.

“Come have a drink with us.”

Jason glances behind, raises an eyebrow at the unlikely pair, then turns back, his mouth a thin, emotionless line.

“I’ll intrude.”

“Nonsense. We’re giving the Martian a history lesson,” Zatanna says cheerfully, patting his shoulder, then leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “You’ll fit right in.”

Something cracks in Jason Blood’s face, and Zatanna steps back in alarm. It takes her a moment to realize he’s actually smiling.

 

* * *

 

The sun is settling on the longest day of Diana’s life.

She spent the first half dead, training with her beloved aunt, leading the uprising for the Underworld, suffering torment at the hands of demons… and then her wife and mother bought her freedom and life, and returned her to the world of the living, only to face the nephew of the creature who put her in Hell in the first place.

But she persevered, because she knew that when all of this was over, she and Isabel would go home, to whatever semblance of home that was left, whether their houses were invaded and destroyed, whether Earth was burned to the ground, whether their universe was gone and the only thing they had left to cling to was each other. But now…

Diana scans the horizon. The sun is setting over the ocean, and the sky is a deep, angry shade of red-orange, and the blue, shadowed water is shuddering as it crashes against the cliffs… and there.

There, she can see, half submerged in the restless water, wreckage from the invisible plane, floating innocently along with the driftwood and seaweed…

Diana bites back a cry of sorrow and surges forward, eyes scanning, searching for the body…

And then she sees, there, further up the beach, the haphazard frame of the plane, and the tiny shadow of a figure dragging an invisible sheet of Saturnian metal across the sand…

_“ISABEL!”_

And the figure looks up, shades her eyes, and her coat is snapping in the wind, and her skin is a ruddy color from the dimming sunlight, and the salvaged pieces of the plane are laid out in order behind her with a box full of tools, as if she had already begun to repair the invisible engine.

And then Diana is there, scooping her up into her arms, holding her so tightly that the smaller woman whines in protest. But Diana promises to never let go for as long as she lives, never _ever,_ because the _gods,_ living and dead, know what sacrifices they both made to arrive at this very moment in time, here, breathing together, both alive, holding each other...

“They said you were dead.”

And Isabel waves her arms, trying to get free, and Diana finally loosens her grip, pulling away only enough so that she can stare into Isabel’s pretty eyes, and smile a watery smile at her indignant expression.

“Well, you actually _did_ die, so I think I win the argument on this one…”

And Diana grins and leans forward to meet her lips with a sweet kiss, and the chemist shuts up for once.

 

* * *

 

The criminals have melted back into the shadows, and almost the last of the shades are gone. But Menalippe and Antiope are standing together at a distance, and Hippolyta lingers for them. A hundred years ago, the Amazons had buried their general’s body on Themyscira, and the island went into mourning. But even after the period of darkness was over, Menalippe did not return. Instead, she took to wandering the shadowed corridors of the library, the reclusive paths winding through the thick forests, the fields of wheat and barley. She did not train as she once did. And although she came when summoned by her queen, her eyes were downcast, her spirit broken.

It was not until Diana returned ten years later with a human woman that the Priestess began to smile again, the darkness of Antiope’s death chased away by the light of Diana’s presence, and the comfort of Isabel’s understanding.

And now, at long last, they are together again, and Hippolyta is loathe to separate them once more. There’s a shout from the distance, and she turns and sees Bruce Wayne standing alone. His butler is the one who just yelled as he fusses over the crumbled remains of the Batcave with John Constantine. Superman is kneeling with his head bowed, his strong arms tightly wrapped around Lois Lane and Martha Kent.

“Mr. Wayne.”

His mask is gone, and without it, she can see the lines in his face, his tired eyes, his unshaven cheeks, his hair gone gray from a lifetime of grief.

“Well done.” His voice is curt, unsmiling. They stare at each other for a tense moment, then Hippolyta presses a hand onto his caped shoulder.

“Your life has not been easy, mortal.”

“I’ve managed to survive,” Bruce dismisses, looking away. Even without his cowl, his face is a mask. Hippolyta ignores the irritation and amusement that rises within her, then she says briskly,

“I have something for you. Something to remind you of your... humanity.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t-”

But Hippolyta is already walking away, and Bruce scowls.

_I don’t trust Greeks bearing gifts…_

The sound of muffled heavy metal music booms across the desert, and Bruce turns, his cape snapping in the wind as a sleek sports car roars towards them, distracting Clark Kent from his family-sandwich, and making Alfred scramble to his feet, his angry protests fading away as he shades his eyes.

“Master Wayne, what…”

But Batman can only stand and stare as the car screeches to a halt in front of the hulking remains of the Batcave, and the sound of screaming guitars pours into the air as three doors open.

“-time _I_ want to drive-”

“Over my dead body-”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, hahaha-”

“Stop being a dick, Dick.”

“Fuck you, my name is _Ro-”_

“Hey, hey, do you guys know that your ship name is “Red Robin”? Like the restaurant-”

 _“Tim_ is Red Robin, you ignorant mutherfucker.”

“I am NOT a- Father! Father, they’re being mean to me.”

“That’s right, run along to pappy.”

“At least he’s my BIRTH father-”

“Hello there, Bruce… um, Bruce?”

“Look, stupid, you made your _father_ cry…”

 _“Boys,”_ Bruce says at last, trying to sound stern and in control, but Jason Todd is right: his unmasked face is doing a terrible job of hiding the tears spilling down over his bruised cheeks… and somehow, he turns away and catches a glimpse of Clark beaming at him, and Alfred sitting in the dirt, a hand over his mouth, sobbing openly like a baby…

“Yo, bring it in, bring it in- no, not _you-”_

“Fight me, motherfucker, fight me.”

And Bruce reaches out, and his sons crowd around him, crowing and punching each other as they pull him into an embrace that would make even Superman envious.

 

* * *

_THREE WEEKS LATER_

Martha Kent sets her bowl of apples onto porch and sits down on the steps. It's already dark; the barest fingers of blue are brushing against the Western sky, but the stars are already scattered brightly across the stretch of black overhead.

Once, her son had come home and they had sat here, and he’d promised to never go anywhere. But now he’s in Metropolis, settling down. Everyone is gone, gone back to their homes to rebuild: Diana and Isabel to Paris, Alfred and Bruce and his pack of sons to Gotham City, Barry to Central City, Supergirl and Lena Luthor to National City, Victor and his father to some secret lab, Arthur and Mera to Atlantis, the Amazons to Themyscria, and the dead… the dead had followed their Queen back to the Underworld.

And she is here, in Smallville.

_I will come for you._

Martha plucks an apple from the bowl and rubs it against her shirt. But of course, death would come for everyone, eventually. And that woman, that goddess is certainly busy, busy tying down that headless tyrant who caused all this trouble, busy welcoming in the swell of daily newcomers, busy ruling a world, a universe to house all those who had ever lived.

One day Martha Kent will die.

Perhaps that’s what she meant. Perhaps she's meant to live out the rest of her life, die of old age, and be carried away, like all the rest of the world, nothing special, just Martha Clark Kent, dying like all the rest of them-

_Shhhhhhh…_

The wind rises, brushing Martha's hair down over her shoulders, making the porch creak, making the cornfield rustle to the night sky. Martha pulls her sweater tighter around her shoulders and then reaches for the bowl, ready to go in.

But there is a movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her hand freezes, outstretched in midair.

And she stares, stares at the sight of a chariot hovering over the cornfield, the dark horses stamping silently in the air, and standing before her, mere feet away from the very steps she’s seated upon, is a figure in gleaming armor.

“Greetings, impatient one.”

Martha blinks wordlessly as the figure smiles broadly at her, casually pulling the leather gloves from her hands.

The bowl overturns, and apples bounce happily down the rickety steps as Martha leaps forward with a cry, buries her face in soft fur, and finds herself enveloped in strong arms.

“You took your _time,_ Hippolyta,” she scolds. The word tastes foreign on her tongue. The Queen laughs at her fumbled effort but her smile is so regal and disarming that Martha can't keep the stern look on her face.

“Would you be greeting me so warmly if I hadn’t?”

 _Yes,_ Martha thinks almost indignantly, but she bites back the retort and says instead,

“Is this the part where you drag me to your carriage and sweep me away to the Underworld?”

“Oh, my eager child,” the goddess murmurs, and an arm slips around her waist, making Martha’s breath catch. “Is that what you want?”

Martha gives a wry smile and looks away, a blush creeping up her cheeks at Hippolyta’s teasing.

“Come _on,”_ she says with an exaggerated sigh.“I’m too old for this, Your Majesty.”

Hippolyta’s eyes soften, and an elegant hand reaches up to brush against her grey hair.

“You seem quite young to _me,”_ she says blithely, and Martha laughs.

It’s so easy to laugh, now.

The hand combing through her hair moves, gently tipping her head back, forcing her to stare into those piercing eyes.

“Very well. Tell me, then, what it is you want, Martha Kent,” the Queen orders, but her eyes are gleaming with amusement.

“I… it’s really up to you, I don’t...” Martha’s voice trails off, and she tries to look away, but the taller woman leans closer, so close that their foreheads are nearly touching.

_“Tell me.”_

Martha’s hands grip tightly at the fur, and she’s completely aware of how childish she looks, standing on her tiptoes, pressed flush against hard armor, grasping at anything she can get like some hungry teenager.

“I want _you.”_

Hippolyta’s lip curls into a satisfied smile, and for a split second, Martha thinks she’s going to tease her even further, but she only hoists her up into her arms, carrying her easily down the path to the waiting chariot.

And Martha opens her mouth to speak, but she hesitates and rests her cheek against a strong shoulder. Cool lips brush against her forehead.

“What is it?”

“I…” Martha’s voice trails off, but Hippolyta’s eyes are shining in the moonlight, and she reaches up to brush her fingertips against the woman’s cold cheek. “Why... me?”

_You could have anyone, anyone in the history of the world, alive or dead. And yet…_

But Hippolyta settles her down in her lap and snaps the reins, and as the sky begins to move, as the moon speeds past, as the stars swirl in circles around them, she leans down and kisses her…

And Martha’s arms wrap tightly around her neck, pulling her close, and the Queen’s arm has snaked around her back, pressing against her shoulder blades as she gently leans her back over the plush, blood-red cushions of the black carriage, her other hand deftly guiding the horses through the universes to the Underworld…

And Martha Kent’s head is spinning, and the Queen’s lips are cold, her breath is cold, but it’s the kind of cold that makes you shiver on a hot day, the kind of cold that makes you sigh with relief, the kind of cold that makes you want _more,_ and then a soft tongue brushes along her bottom lip, making her gasp, making her melt, and all at once, she flushes with embarrassment, remembering how she once teased this goddess about her kissing abilities on a dry, lifeless desert…

When she pulls away, Martha is left to stare breathlessly up at her, motionless, not looking away even as they pass over the gurgling Styx and Charon shaking his fist, or flinching as Cerberus’ three heads yelp in joy at the sight of them, or gazing about in wonder as they fly low over the glittering Fields of Asphodel. And Hippolyta stares back, then raises an eyebrow, and says,

“Why _not_ you?”

“I mean… I- I’m not complaining,” Martha says in a rush, reaching out to cover her hand with her own. And Hippolyta shakes her head, smiling a small smile at her that is almost shy, and pulls her close.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, through the long waits between chapters, wild plotlines, and all!
> 
> When I first started writing this in the aftermath of _Justice League_ (2017), I intended to write a story that sent Isabel to the underworld to bring Diana back with the help of five hand-picked friends: Napi, Hippolyta, Zatanna, Alfred, and Constantine. I thought maybe there'd be two chapters after Diana returned in order to take care of Darkseid.
> 
> And then one thing led to another, and dozens of hours spent perusing over comic books later, this simple plot turned to the wild monstrosity that you just finished reading. 
> 
> I know at times it was not the easiest or most fun thing to read, so I just want to say again, THANK YOU, THANK YOU THANK YOU. You are the _best,_ and I hope you enjoyed it, and all the love of these characters that I put into this fic. I hope I did justice to them all. :)


	18. Post-Credits Scene

 

“Ma?”

An empty bowl lies some ways away from the steps.

The front door is unlocked.

Untouched boxes line the entryway.

Clark Kent sneezes.

“Ma?”

No one answers. The truck is parked outside, the windshield dusty. The stairs creak as Clark makes his way up. No heartbeat. No body. No sign of human life.

The bed is neatly made. Untouched.

The pipes are dry.

The refrigerator only has a dry, half-eaten meatloaf sitting inside. He recognizes the handiwork of Mrs. Williams from down the road...

Clark makes his way out the front door, reaching down to fetch the empty bowl from the ground.

And then he sees it, the shriveled remains.

Apples, scattered in the dirt in front of the steps, as if they had been tossed- or thrown, suddenly, forcefully…

_No, no, no, no, no, no..._

Clark stares frantically, and then he closes his eyes, and he listens, searching for his mother's voice, her breath, her heartbeat-

_Just focus on my voice, pretend it's an island… can you see it?_

But there is nothing. She is nowhere, she is not to be found, not alive, on this Earth, not in this universe...

_“MARTHA?!”  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I'm sorry, I just couldn't help making fun of THAT MOMENT~~.


End file.
